


Careful what you wish for - The Carver Hawke Story

by zevra1elf



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Carver being his usual self, F/M, Future Relationships, M/M, Personal Growth, Self-Discovery, fight me, there will be tragic angst, unbetaed, we die like men!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:34:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 47,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21557848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zevra1elf/pseuds/zevra1elf
Summary: Meet Carver Hawke. Always in the shadow of his elder brother, Champion of Kirkwall, Garrett. Unable to make his own name in Kirkwall and denied acceptance into the Templars the younger Hawke became a mercenary, living a life roaming the land for coin while his brother carved himself a legend. His travels have matured him somewhat but he's still rough, still a bit of an ass, still willing to kill anyone who threatens his family. Except now he's been spat out by the Fade with a weird mark on his hand. Some people are telling him he's their savior, others their damnation. All Carver knows is he really should have been more careful with what he wished for. No one said his story would have a happy ending.
Relationships: Cassandra Pentaghast/Varric Tethras, Fenris/Male Hawke, Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Inquisitor/Iron Bull, more coming
Comments: 17
Kudos: 72





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My reimagining of the events of Inquisition and what happened to Carver during and after the events of DA2. Not everything is going to be accurate but I still love this series and this has been an idea that has weighed heavily on my mind now. Enjoy the story of how Carver gets tossed into the spotlight only to get burned and how this shapes and changes him. If you need anything cleared up I can clarify it, just let me know in the comments!

Carver Hawke had been through a lot of shit during his deceivingly long thirty-year life span. You’d think in a house of mages the former twin would be at a disadvantage and yet he managed to outlive his sister during the Fifth Blight even though he was on the run for far longer than she had been. Years of growing up allowed him to begrudgingly admit that Garrett was the only reason why he had survived their year in the smuggling business and a great deal of what happened afterward, no matter what story he spun for those who would listen. He still didn’t know if becoming a mercenary after Garrett disappeared into the Deep Roads was a good idea but it was either that or becoming a Templar and that lot had sticks so far up their asses they had to shit from their mouths.

Then there were the times he briefly returned to his brother’s side; that bloody business with the Qunari at Chateau Haine and that foul creature their father had tried to seal away. He had thought it would be a nice quiet visit when he went to visit his brother in Kirkwall sometime after but then the Chantry literally blew up in their faces. Now anyone could tell his relationship with the Champion had never been the best but after what Anders had done, after what his brother had to do in answer to those crimes...well, they were family. There was no way Carver was going to leave his grieving brother alone to deal with the steaming pile of shit Kirkwall had become in the wake of Justice’s foolishness.

They remained in Kirkwall for a year before the siblings agreed that it was time to move on and make a hasty retreat. Far too many blamed Garrett for his lover’s actions and thus it was best to leave Kirkwall behind. They followed Fenris to the Tevinter border for a time but as a new love bloomed between the former slave and his brother the mercenary found himself longing for distance again. So they parted ways, Carver joining with the next mercenary band that crossed his path under a new name and after that...well, he didn’t know what had happened, all he knew was everything hurt.

His head was pounding unlike ever before, every speckle of light piercing his mind like needles in his brain. His muscles strained with every minor movement to the point that lifting his body off the ground was a chore but the warrior managed, getting up onto his feet and looking about. Surrounding him was a strange land of broken rock and green mist, of shadows and chaos he did not recognize. He could remember Hawke describing a place like this only once before and the memory only deepened his frown. “The Fade? I’m in the Fade. But….I’m not a mage.” He breathes out, wincing as his right-hand aches for a brief moment.

Blue eyes look down at the offending appendage as it pulses once more, widening when he discovers a strange green mark now smack in the middle of his hand. “I’m dreaming.” He states as calmly as he could, gulping as he looked about for anything that looked normal. “Or I’m dead. I don’t know which is worse.” Carver mumbled as he begins to walk, every step he took a struggle. He needed to remain calm. Father never taught him like he had Bethany and Garrett but Carver still listened. If this was the Fade then there were likely demons, demons that would try and lure him away and possess him. Though that might not be such a problem if he is in fact dead.

_”Carver! Carver wait!”_ His head turns sharply towards the voice of a woman he knows too well, his heart turning to ice with both fear and guilt. “Mother?” He breathes out, his feet numbly beginning to carry him towards the voice that once comforted him when another urges him away. _”Run!”_ The voice tells him urgently, still a woman but not his mother. _”Run while you can! Warn them!_ The warrior looks about before groaning, holding his head in his hands and screwing his eyes shut. “This is fucked up. Does Brother go through this every night?” He whispers to himself, pausing as he hears a far more threatening sound approaching him.

As he lifts his head blue eyes lock onto a demonic spider creature, hissing at him as he begins to step away. _”Run!”_ The voice urges again and this time the man wisely obeys, the fear in his body outweighing every ache and pain Carver had as he begins to sprint as fast as he can. “Damnit! What is this shit?!” Carver shouts as more demons join the chase, the man scrambling up a cliffside as best as he can. At first, he thinks he sees the light of day but as his eyes adjust he finds a woman standing at the top of the rocks he’s trying to climb. She stretches her arm out, hand extended towards him, the gesture urging Carver up and onward.

He cried out when he loses his footing for a brief moment, unwisely looking down at the approaching mob chasing him. His head snaps up as he stretches his own arm out to reach for this being, whoever she was, desperate for any help he can get. Carver does not register what happens in the next few moments. He only knows one moment he was being chased by monsters and the next he is stumbling in the real world, knees shaking as he struggles to stand. As voices both panicked and angered ring in his ears the Hawke finally succumbs to his tired bones, falling in a heap to the ground, unaware of the fate sewn into his hand.

Next time his eyes open he is once more cold and alone but this time he is at least in the realm of the living. A groan passes his lips as his eyes adjust to the flickering flames in the dark room, reaching up to rub his pained temple only to find himself in chains. He frowns as he turns his hand over, mouth hanging open as he spots the glowing mark on his hand. Not a dream then. As if to reassure him of this the mark sparks to life, Carver crying out as pain shoots through his right arm.

Shortly after he can hear a door bursting open, the sound of footsteps quickly approaching him before fingers grasp him by the root of his hair and yank his head up. “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.” A woman hisses out angrily, Carver gritting his teeth in defiance as his hair is let go, blue eyes snapping open to glare at one of his captors. She is a woman dressed in ornate armor, made for combat on the front lines and the look in her eyes could kill him if she had the mind to do so. A quick look around shows that there are actually quite a few in the room with a similar look on their faces but they have blades pointed at his chest. Lovely.

“The Conclave has been destroyed. Everyone who went there is dead.” She stops in front of him, the young Hawke lifting his head to once more focus on the Seeker. “Except for you.” Her words send stones deep into his stomach, his once taut body becoming slack of reality begins to sink in. He doesn’t remember the Conclave, doesn’t recall being there, but he knows what it was. The Divine was holding a Conclave so that the Mages and Templars could talk and hopefully bring a peaceful end to this war. And now they were all gone.

“Everyone?” He breathes out, looking down in confusion at his hands. He’d remember something like that, wouldn’t he? Yet as Carver tried to think back to the Conclave he found nothing but the Nightmares of the Fade, not even anything from before the Conclave was even announced. His thoughts were cut short as the woman grabs his arm and yanks it upwards, her hold on him bruising. “Explain this.” She demands, the mark sparking to life once more but this time Carver endures. “I don’t know!” He shouts, yanking his hand away as anger bubbles in his chest.

“I don’t know what that is or how it got there! I don’t know ANYTHING!” The warrior shouts, his interrogator moving to strike him but is stopped by a newcomer. Perhaps she had been in the room all this time but the lighter dressed woman had been silent until now. “We need him, Cassandra.” She urges, Cassandra letting out a disgusted grunt before wrenching her hand back, this new woman stepping forward. “What do you remember.” She urges, Carver calming down somewhat as he tries to think back.

“Pain.” He says at first, closing his eyes while digging through memories. “There were monsters chasing after me. And…” His eyes open, confusion evident on his face. “A woman. She pulled me up.” The purple-clad woman raises a brow, crossing her arms while canting her hips. “A woman?” She parrots, the Seeker shaking her head and placing a hand on her shoulder. “We must go, Leliana.” She urges, the spymaster stepping back and looking between the two. “We shall meet you at the Breach. Go.” With a nod Leliana leaves, the soldier moving to undo his chains so he could walk.

“...Is it true?” Carver asked, looking up at her hesitantly. “Is the Conclave gone?” The look on this woman’s face is pained as she hefts him up onto his feet, allowing him only a moment to grab his bearings before she urges him forward. “You shall see for yourself.” With only that ominous warning they begin to walk out of the holding cells and into the light, Carver wincing as a strange glow blinds him briefly. His eyes turn up towards the sky and immediately widen at the sight above them.

There swirling in the sky is an unnatural mass of green energy, tearing through the sky and raining down onto the ground below. “We call it the Breach.” He snaps out of it as Cassandra speaks, focusing on her as she begins to explain. “It appeared after the Conclave exploded. A tear in the Veil that has been raining down fire and demons for the past three days.” For a brief moment Carver is fearful but then the familiarity of the situation sinks in and he can only let out a groan. “And you think I caused it?” His tone is incredulous, wondering how he got into this situation. He wants to argue further when the Breach pulses in the sky and his arm is suddenly raking with pain.

This time Carver can not help but cry out, body twitching as he falls to his knees. Cassandra goes to his side and kneels with him, pointing to the sky. “With each pulse of the Breach it grows as does that mark on your hand. It is killing you...but it may be the only thing able to stop this.” As things slowly come back into focus his stares at the offending mark on his hand before he looks back to his captor, weighing his options, which he finds there are none. “If that’s what it takes,” Carver grumbles out with a shake of his head, the Seeker blinking in shock. “Then…” She trails off hopefully, Carver struggling to stand.

“I won’t sit here and do nothing while everyone thinks I caused this. If you’ve got a plan, I’m in.” The words are forced through his teeth as they clenched in pain but he finds a hand helping him up, gentler now than before. He looks to the Seeker who is studying him intently, nodding her head as she begins to undo the clasps on his hands. “Thank you. Now, we must move quickly.” She states, the cuffs falling to the ground in a heap before she leads him over the bridge.

Around them, he can see soldiers, commoners, all manner of folk looking at him like he’s the scum of the earth, more than one spitting in his direction. “We are still mourning the death of The Most Holy. They want answers, justice...but for now we can only hope for survival.” She says plainly but the implications of her words are clear. “I didn’t kill anyone. I sure as hell didn’t blow up the Temple! Had enough of that shit in Kirkwall.” He grumbled under his breath but the woman catches his words as they walk, saying nothing for the moment.

“Open the gate! We are leaving for the Breach.” With the command the way forward is made clear, Cassandra urging her charge ahead of her as they march on. “I know nothing I say is going to change what you think.” The younger Hawke begins, making his way up the hill in a huff. “I didn’t kill anyone. I can’t even remember why I came up here but it sure as Andraste’s tits wasn’t to blow anything up!” He hears the crackle of the Breach first before his hand sparks to life in pain, the man stumbling but catching himself before he falls.

“Son of a bitch!” He hisses out, Cassandra moving closer to his side with a worried look on her face. “Can you continue?” Rolling his eyes the man definitely marches forward, not so much as looking back as he answers. “I can walk just fine on my own thanks! For Maker’s sake, one damn Chantry blowing up was more than enough!” This confirms the Seeker’s suspicions, walking to his side and studying him. “You were in Kirkwall?”

“Yes.” The prisoner states, looking over his shoulder at her. “And I know for a fact the man who was fool enough to pull that stunt is dead, so whoever did this,” he doesn’t get to finish that sentence, the ground beneath his feet suddenly giving way, panicked screams filling his ears as they are suddenly sent flying. His body slides across the icy lake beneath them, his head ringing as he struggles to come to his feet. The bubbling of something unnatural urges him to go faster, eyes widening as he watches a pair of demons burst through the ground. 

“Stay behind me!” Cassandra urges, shield and mace in hand as she charges at the monsters threatening them. “Fuck that.” Carver growls out as another pool begins to bubble in front of him, looking about frantically before his eyes settle on a battered shield and blade. He lunges for the weapons as this new demon bursts forth, grabbing it just in time to block the brunt of the monster's attack. With a roar he swings his blade with practiced ease, cutting the demon with ease before he rushes towards Cassandra, slamming into the creature behind her.

It doesn’t take long to dispatch of their foes, Carver looking about for signs of more demons about to spew forth. “I think that’s all of them.” He should have been looking forward though, the Seeker’s weapon now trained on him as she snarls. “Drop the weapons! Now!” The Hawke snarls at the command, motioning around them. “Are you joking?! Demons are raining from the sky and you want me to go unarmed?!” He shouts, the Seeker’s arm lifting her mace for a brief moment before she pauses, taking a deep breath and lowering her weapons.

“No. You’re right.” By the sounds of it, she’s not happy about this but she does put her weapons back. “You should be able to defend yourself. You have to reach the Breach alive after all.” With that she turns around and heads up the hill, pausing briefly to look back at him. “I should remember you came willingly.” With that they march on, Carver’s hand aching as they drew closer to the Breach, the sounds of fighting reaching his ears. “We must help them. Hurry!” The Seeker urged, leading the charge as the green glow grew stronger. 

For a moment the warrior remained frozen in the presence of the Rift, feeling something resonate in his soul at the sight of it. Demons emerged from the green tear in the Veil and for a moment all he could do was watch until he heard a familiar cry of pain. “Varric?” He breathed out, eyes falling to the dwarf, mouth falling open in shock. Then he narrows his eyes, putting his shield in front of him and charging forward with a roar, slamming into the monsters. “Still haven’t learned to leave the fighting to the ones in armor dwarf?” Carver teased, Varric looking to the man with a thoughtful expression. 

The last time he had seen Carver was when he left Kirkwall with his brother and the Seeker had forbidden him from seeing the unidentified prisoner while he was still healing. However, something clicks in his mind, eyes widening before taking a shot at another approaching demon. “Junior? Is that you?!” “Ten years and you still can’t think of a better nickname than that? I thought you were a writer!” Carver grunts out as he becomes a shield between the demons and his friend, pushing the beast off and slicing through it. 

Their reunion is cut short as the last of the monstrosities falls and another hand grabs onto his right wrist. He looks to this stranger, a bald elf, whose eyes are narrowed in determination. “You must seal the Rift. Quickly!” Carver is about to ask how he’s supposed to do that when the mage points the glowing appendage at the portal, a line of energy connecting it to him. It feels like nothing he has ever felt before like there’s a tug of war between whatever force lies beyond the Rift and his soul. It’s not a fight he intends to run away from though, so with a grunt, he begins to pull back, teeth grit together before he yanks his hand back with a shout, the Rift closing with a pop.

The sudden lack of pull on the other end sends Carver stumbling back, falling onto his ass with a wince as Varric comes to his side. “Are you ok Junior? Wait,” he looks to his hand, more pieces of the puzzle sliding together and then the dwarf looks back to his old friend. “You’re the prisoner?!” He gasps out before glaring at the Seeker. “You beat Hawke’s brother?!” He growls out, Cassandra looking shocked as realization dawns on her. “That’s Carver? Carver Hawke?” She asks in disbelief, said warrior grunting as he takes to his feet. “Didn’t bother asking if anyone around you knew who I was? Might have been nice to ask for my name before you threw punches.” The man hissed out his accusations, taking a step forward before the mage stepped between the two warriors.

“Enough! We’ve no time for this.” He urges, pointing his staff towards the Breach in the sky, blue eyes staring up at it before Carver lets out a huff. “Fine.” Briefly, his gaze travels back to his mark before he looks past the elf to where the Rift once stood. “So, this thing may actually be able to fix this mess after all.” “In theory.” The mage states while leaning on his staff, glancing at the Breach and then to Carver. “Whatever magic created the Breach also created the Mark. I believe it may be the key to stopping the Breach, perhaps even sealing it for good.” If there is even a small part of that Carver understands it goes over his head, Varric patting the young man’s back with a soft smile.

“What Solas here means to say is ‘I kept that thing from killing you while you slept’.” Now that grabs his attention, looking to the apostate once more, his ‘mark’, then Solas again. “Oh...thank you. I think.” He mumbles, the elf’s lips quirking into a small smile and bowing his head. “The Breach threatens everyone. If we do not all work together to stop it then we are all dead.” The human nods his head in understanding, a huff leaving his lips. “Fair point. So,” his gaze turns back to a conflicted Seeker, “where are we headed?”

She points her blade up at the mountain, Carver letting out a groan as he gazes up at it. “Wonderful. All right, let’s get going.” With that the dead man walking begins to make his way towards the path, Cassandra stopping them with a growl. “The dwarf stays here.” She orders, both Varric, and Carver giving her a skeptical look. “I think I said this before,” Carver starts, jerking his head towards the sky above, “but there are demons raining down from above. Demons. Maker knows how many.” He motions to the dwarf at his side. “Varric might be trouble but he’s a damn good shot and unlike many dwarves doesn’t run away when he’s ass deep in shit.”

“Junior!” Varric cries out in surprise, looking up at the younger Hawke. “If I didn’t know any better I’d take that as a compliment.” With a laugh, he turns his head back to Cassandra, a confident smirk playing on his lips. “It’s like Carver says, Seeker. The valley below is swarming with demons and your men aren’t exactly up to the task of escorting you up the mountain. You need me.” Cassandra’s brow furrows in frustration before she lets out a disgusted sigh, shaking her head. “Fine.”

“Hear that dwarf? Up you go.” Carver jokes as he hauls the man over the log blocking their path, the smuggler laughing softly as he follows Carver down the path. “I have a name you know.” “So do I. I’ll use yours when you use mine.” The prisoner huffs out, Cassandra watching the two playfully banter back and forth, licking her lips before speaking up. “So...you are truly the brother of the Champion?” A drawn-out sigh leaves the throat of the sibling in question, looking over his shoulder in annoyance. “Would that change anything?” The silence speaks volumes about her answer, Varric clearing his throat to break it.

“Demons up ahead.” Carver is thankful for the distraction, looking to the mage of their group. “Can you put barriers on us?” Rather than answer with words Solas casts his magic, the familiar tingle of a barrier washing over Carver. With that, he charges into the battle, Cassandra right behind him as their two ranged fighters open fire. It is not the mess that had happened before, four experienced fighters easily overwhelming the invaders of the Fade, moving quickly to the mountain path above.

“So kid, what DID happen at the Conclave?” Varric asks over the wind as it picks up, the man looking down at his old friend in annoyance. “I don’t remember. Don’t think they’d believe me if I did.” The storyteller shrugs his shoulders at this, looking over to Cassandra as he speaks. “Should have spun a story. Easier to believe in something than nothing at all.” The Seeker sighs, shaking her head as she sneers down at the dwarf. “You would say that wouldn’t you?” “In defense of my friend’s dear brother? I’d tell you I did it if there weren’t people who would say otherwise.”

Carver is not sure which hurts worse; the fact that he was Hawke’s brother meant more to Varric or the fact he’d take the fall for him if he could. “Besides, I told you the truth about Junior right? Still, the same pain in the ass as he was back in Kirkwall.” The dwarf laughs out, Carver rolling his eyes as he chalks it up to being the first option, deciding to roll with things for now. “And you’re still the same scheming dwarf Varric.” “Can’t argue with that.” Cassandra chips in, lifting her shield as more monsters approach.

It takes precious time to get to the forward camp but they all make it in one piece, Carver gulping down a potion and tossing the flask to the side as he looks about the camp. There are those who are broken and those who are ready to fight, glaring daggers at him with hands-on their blades. The warrior wants to shout at them, to defend himself but would it help? Would anyone believe that the foolish brother of the Champion of Kirkwall would not do something like this if the right amount of coin was involved? Not knowingly mind you but he didn’t know how magic worked. Perhaps he had been given a package that literally blew up in his face, or kept the right people from getting to the right place. It would be easier if he could remember but sadly Carver doubts even then he would feel better about his current situation.

“There you are!” The voice of an older man catches his attention, eyes falling to a man dressed in Chantry robes who looks none to pleased with him. “Chain the prisoner. We are leaving.” “We can not leave!” Cassandra growls out, the Chancellor looking to her with a huff. “The Valley is lost Seeker and this man,” he points an accusing finger at Carver, “is responsible!” “Oh, bloody void!” Carver can’t take it anymore, something in him snapping as he speaks. “Do you really think I could do something like this?!” He points to the Breach and winces as the mark sparks to life, enduring the pain as Leliana returns to their side.

“Chancellor Roderick.” She chastises, crossing her arms before looking to Carver. “That mark may be the key to stopping the Breach. If that is so we must take the risk or all may be lost.” He shakes his head, stepping away from the table to approach the spymaster. “And how do you propose to do that? The path leading to the Breach is crawling with demons!” He argues, the red head turning her eyes to the mountains above. “If our men all charge at once they can cause a distraction, allowing the prisoner to take the path through the mountains.”

“A path your men haven’t returned from.” Cassandra pointed out, Carver thinking for a moment as he looks to where the soldiers are stationed. “Wouldn’t it be easier to charge with the soldiers then?” He offers, all eyes turning to Carver, the man shirking back at the sudden attention. He had always wanted his words to be heard, to be taken seriously but suddenly he feels like he was intruding on something. “Is that what you believe is best?” Cassandra helpfully says, her prisoner giving her a questioning look. “Oh, now you want my opinion?” 

She rolls her eyes, turning to face him directly. “You are the one who must reach the Breach. Since we can not come to an agreement the choice should fall to you.” He’s taken aback by this answer, looking at the Seeker before his eyes turn to the mountains and then the path in front of them, going back and forth between the branching paths before making up his mind. “We don’t know the state of the mountain path. For all we know there was a collapse and that is why your men haven’t reported back. At least if we charge we know what we’re facing.”

He doesn’t miss the disappointed looks coming from both the archer and spymaster but the Seeker at least seems pleased with his decision. “A good point. Leliana, go tell the men to prepare for battle. Chancellor,” she looks back to the old man, “take the wounded and flee to Haven. Should we fail you will be safe there.” He lets out an exasperated sigh but relents, walking past them as Cassandra turns to her charges. “If you need to prepare I suggest you do so quickly. Commander Cullen will be eager to put an end to this.”

“Cullen?” Carver asks as he hears Varric laugh, looking up at the young man with a smirk. “Our Seeker here dragged Curly along with me when she left Kirkwall. Now he commands the troops gathered here.” The male warrior scoffs at this, cleaning the blood off his blade before setting it back in its sheath. “Is Aveline here too?” Cassandra looked off to the side to hide her embarrassment, clearing her throat. “The Guard Captain would not leave her post. The people of Kirkwall needed her more and I understood.” 

With that, they headed past the gates towards the battlefield, seeing the familiar mop of blond hair from a mile away. Carver can’t help but let out a bark of laughter as he approached, catching the Commander’s attention who turns to gaze at the group. “Knight-Captain Cullen! Oh, sorry,” Carver gives a mock salute, “Commander. Seems we’ve both chosen a path away from the Templars.” At first, it doesn’t look like the man recognizes him fully. Like so many others he had not gotten a close look at the prisoner, nor had he cared to. A terrorist did not deserve to be remembered.

Seeing the dwarf at this man’s side sparked a memory in the Ex-Templar’s mind and his eyes widen. “Carver? You...YOU’RE the prisoner?!” The accused rolls his eyes, looking up towards the sky. “Yes yes, I blew up the Conclave, I killed thousands of people. That’s what they all say, not sure when I’m going to get a chance to say anything in my defense. Not that it will matter.” He muses, looking back to Cassandra as she steps between them, looking to her comrade. “Are our men ready?” “I,” Cullen stutters out, still unsure of how he feels about this. He expected the prisoner to be a stranger, someone whose face and name he’d never know.

He knew Carver though. In the past, Carver had come to him begging to be allowed into the Templars and Cullen had refused. He was too close to an apostate was the justification at the time and after that, he did not see much of the younger Hawke in Kirkwall. He hadn’t even known what became of him until Varric released his book and Cullen still felt guilty for his part in driving the man away from Kirkwall. He found it hard to believe that the bright-eyed young man who once chased after him like a pup was the same one who blew up the Conclave. Then again, these were strange times.

“We’ll do what we can to support you. We can distract the demons when they come out of the Rift,” “No.” Carver growled out, his hold tightening on the hilt of his blade. “You are not distracting anything for me. I can close the Rifts; your men will see tomorrow if I have any say in it, Commander. Count on that much.” Cullen remains silent for a brief moment, letting out a sigh and nodding his head in approval. “We shall see Carver. I hope what they have said about you is right.” He marches to gather his men and when he arrives at the gate he finds the prisoner waiting, eager for a fight. At least that much had not changed about the man he had once known.

With a battle cry the men charge towards the fire, demons spewing from the Rift as Carver pushes past them. He finds that by trying to close the Rift early he could damage any demon in the area, stunning them long enough for the soldiers to get a few cheap shots in. When he closes the portal this time he is ready for the power behind it, remaining on his feet while glaring at the space the Rift once occupied. “You have gotten quite good at this,” Solas remarks as he comes to Carver’s side, the human huffing as he turns and walks towards the ruins of the Temple. “I’ll need to do better than good to close the Breach.” He mumbles, pushing past the rubble and stopping as he reaches ground zero.

Kirkwall had been a bloody mess but there was at least life after the flames died out. Here there was no life; not even flies or rats scurried across the ground. There were no corpses, only the burning ashen statues left in the wake of the explosion. He brushes past one the wrong way and jumps back as it crumbles into dust. “Andraste’s Bloody Tits.” Carver breathes out, frozen in place as he stares at the empty spot and then the ruins around them. “I...are you sure I walked away from this? THIS?” The man asks in disbelief, Cassandra’s face growing sullen as she stops at Carver’s side. 

“This is where they found you. They said you stepped out of the Fade...that there was a woman behind you. No one knows who she was.” Her words offer Carver no comfort, the man taking a deep breath before a gentle hand on his back pushes him forward, urging him on towards the Breach above them. Carver hadn’t noticed until now the pull the Breach had on him but now it pulled at him like a moth to flames. Blue eyes stare up into the green mist, echoes of voices in the back of his mind as he is transfixed by the green light. Realizing he is under the thrall of the strange gate he shakes his head, growling under his breath and turning to Cassandra.

“I don’t suppose anyone has a plan to get me even remotely close to that monster?” Solas is the one to speak up, helpfully pointing out they don’t need to close the Breach, just the Rift below it. So with that they begin their trek towards the origin of all this chaos, things only growing more disturbing as they headed down. _”Someone, help me!”_ Cassandra stops at the woman’s voice, looking about quickly with her mouth hanging open. “That was the Divine’s voice!” She muses, Solas humming in thought. “Echoes of what happened here. Brought out by the Fade...we must be getting close.”

Carver is so distracted he almost steps on a glowing red rock. However the feel of its’ sickness sends a shock straight to his gut and he nearly jumps back, Varric also giving the strange ore plenty of room. “That’s Red Lyrium.” Carver says bluntly, licking his lips nervously as he looks to Cassandra. “That’s..no, no way.” He shakes his head, moving carefully around the rocks as if they are diseased. They very well might be. “I did not do this. After what that shit did to the Knight Captain in Kirkwall there is absolutely no way I would go near even a splinter of this bloody shit!” “Seconded.” Varric agreed, following the path Carver made through the rocks as they reached the bottom.

He feels his mark spark to life, looking to the foreboding Rift ahead of them nervously, watching as it shifts and spews out an image. He can not look away as he sees the Divine hanging in the air, hands held by magic in front of an imposing figure. This man, no, a creature, inches towards Justinia but then his own voice echoes in his ears. _”What are you doing?! Stop!”_ He turns to watch himself approach the two with shield and sword drawn, eyes narrowing to take in the details. The sword is unremarkable but the shield has a strange emblem painted on it. Before he can really take in the details though the mirror is backing away, a frightened expression on his face.

The Divine warns him once more to run and the monster points a finger at him. _”Kill him. Do not let him escape!”_ The image crackles to dust as the shadow of himself runs, vanishing into mist. “You!” Cassandra shouts, approaching Carver and grasping his shoulder, her eyes wide as realization slams into her. “You were there! You tried to save her!” She gasps out, squeezing the shoulder in her hold in desperation. “Who did this? Who killed the Most Holy?!” She demands, Carver wrenching his shoulder away with a soft growl.   
“I don’t know!” He shouts in an exasperated tone, wrenching his shoulder out of her arm as his face goes from confused to just plain lost. “I...I don’t know.” And he really wishes he did because the more Carver tries to remember the more he understands just how much he has forgotten. The mercenary can’t remember who this man was, how or why he had come to the Conclave, who he had been traveling with. The last clear memories he has are during his time with Fenris and Garrett and that was almost a year ago!

He looks back to the Rift as Solas explains that they will need to open it to seal it properly, Cassandra urging the soldiers around them to prepare for a fight. Varric steps to Carver’s side, looking into the Rift with him as he lets out a shaky breath. “Well Junior? Is this what you wanted?” The dwarf asks, looking up to the young man with a smile on his face through the pity in his voice was unmistakable. “You always wanted to be in the center of the story.” The warrior lets out a dry laugh, shaking his head as he puts away his blade to ready himself for the opening of the Rift. 

“When you tell this one make sure I die in some heroic act. Not some broken heap on the ground.” Oh and he knows he’s going to die. There is no way he’s not going to die; if the Rift doesn’t kill him, or whatever comes out of it, the Chantry will. It didn’t matter who said what the world needed a scapegoat and Carver was already on the spit as far as he was concerned. “Don’t talk like that kid.” The dwarf growls out, turning to face his friend’s brother. “You better not make me tell your brother I watched you die.”

“Just watch my back Varric.” He huffs out defiantly as Cassandra calls out to him, the man steeling himself with a deep breath as his archer friend retreats to the back lines. The coming battle is intense; there is a Pride demon that slams into everything and everyone around it and Carver has to do his best to keep the creature’s attention while also weakening the Rift. He’s tossed about, stricken and shocked but after a bloody battle the monster falls and the real battle begins. When he goes to close this Rift he feels it pulling at his very soul, gritting his teeth as he fights against the pain, a cry of agony leaving his throat when he yanks his hand back, the force of the blast causing him to fly backward, landing on his back.

Through the ringing in his ears he barely hears the sound of Varric calling out his name, eyes glossy as they stare up at the sky and watch as the Breach pulses one last time before calming. He smirks proudly at his feat, numb to the feeling of hands shaking his body in an attempt to get a response from the fallen Hawke. Then, as it had done before, all fades to black.


	2. Unsettling Similarities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After successfully closing the Breach the weight of it all begins to fall on Carver's head. Having so many people looking to him for guidance, seeing him as a symbol of hope rather than a person forces him to see things from a new perspective. Still, he vows to move on towards the future rather than the past, no matter how much his missing memories are nagging at him. New faces bring new life into this strange story but one is not so new after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how much I jump around in this chapter but I didn't want to spend too much time on the filler. If anyone is interested I can do one off's separately but for now I just wanted to get into the meat of the matter and introduce some of the problems Carver's going to have to deal with. Thanks for reading!

When Carver next awakened it was with a start, sitting up with a gasp, eyes wide as he scanned the room. His surroundings weren’t familiar but the cozy cabin was a far better sight than the cold prison cells he was held in the first time. Pausing for a moment he looks down at his hand, wondering if the mark was still there. Sure enough it is but the burning, pulsing ache is gone, replaced by a simple feeling of warmth and what can only be described as a hum of power sleeping in the palm of his hand. It’s weird. “I’m alive.” He breathes out, so focused on the simple fact he was still breathing that he didn’t notice that someone had entered his space until he heard a wooden box thunk against the ground.

He lifts his head to take in the form of a lanky elf girl, who takes a step back from him once his eyes are on her. “I didn’t know you were awake, I swear!” She gasps out, Carver sighing as he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “So people still believe I did it?” He’s only assuming this but the woman quickly shakes her head to correct him. “No!” She shouts, but her look is still that of a frightened child. “We all saw what you did! I,” Carver startles as she falls to her knees, bowing to him, “I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. You are back in Haven, My Lord.” “Your what?” Carver asks in confusion, the elf slowly rising to her feet.

“Everyone knows what you’ve done. You stopped the Breach from growing with the mark on your hand. The Blessing of Andraste.” She wrings her hands as she backs away slowly, nervously looking about. “I’m sure Lady Cassandra will want to see you. She said to let her know when you had awakened, to find her in the Chantry. At once, she said!” Then the poor girl is running, leaving the man sitting stunned and alone in the cottage, his mind processing the strange series of events. “Blessing of Andraste? THIS?” He mutters to himself, looking back down at his hand and then further down his arm. It’s only now that he realizes someone has changed his clothes into finery he was not quite used to, slowly coming to his feet.

He’s still not comfortable leaving the house unarmed though, so he quickly changes into the armor left for him, grabbing his shield and blade before emerging from the cottage. Now he was expecting the guards to be there but he was not expecting them to salute to him or for the people gathered who now stared at him in awe. Briefly, Carver wonders if he should perhaps go back to bed as he is surely still dreaming in the Fade but he was not one to retreat. Instead, he walks down the stairs and tries to find the quickest route to the Chantry, not at all easy when everyone around him seems eager to get a good look at him.

_” That’s him! The Herald of Andraste!_ He heard someone whisper in reverence, Carver turning his head to try and find the source of the voice, watching as someone gets hit in the head by their friend for ‘disturbing the Herald’. He keeps walking, hearing similar whispers to that of the first, one remarking on how he stopped the Breach, another about how the Chantry didn’t want anything to do with them. So first he was a terrorist and now he was some sort of prophet?! Exactly what in the Void happened while he was sleeping? He slips into the Chantry eager to get the answers to these questions and more but knows he'll be in for a hard time when he can already hear the shouting from halfway into the Chantry. He sneers when the first to greet him is the Chancellor, eyes narrowed in a challenge as Cassandra urges the guards to disregard that and leave. “‘Thank you for stopping the hole in the Sky from killing us!’ I think that would have been a more correct answer don’t you think?” Carver asks while he crosses his arms, the old man narrowing his eyes at Carver. “And how convenient for you that you survived yet again.” “Enough!” Cassandra growls out, looking back to the Chancellor with a huff. “I know what I saw at the Temple, we all know what we heard. Carver is not the one who caused this.” Oh thank the Maker he was off the hook!

“The Divine called out to him for help. He tried to save her.” The Seeker concluded, the Chancellor turning to her in anger. “So his survival that...thing on his hand?” “Providence.” And once more Carver hears his train of thought coming crashing to a halt. “The Maker sent him to us in our darkest hour. He gave Carver the very power needed to save us.” It takes a moment for Carver to recover from that, looking about as all eyes fell onto him. “I’m sorry, what?” His earlier bravado was snuffed out like a light, replaced by confusion and shock as Lelliana handed Cassandra a book, which she slams onto the table. 

She begins by declaring this book ‘The Rite of the Divine’, declaring the creation of a new Inquisition and that they would close the Breach and find those responsible even if they had to do so alone. Seeing as he had no power left here Roderick wisely retreated, Carver numbly stepping to the side as he simply stares down at the book. “Again. What?” Leliana smiled, pushing the book towards him for him to take. “This is the Divine’s Directive. Recreate the Inquisition of Old. Find those who will fight against the chaos and return order to this world.” The spymaster states, the younger man reaching out to trace the metal cover of the book. 

“We aren’t ready.” She continues, grabbing Carver's attention as she goes on. “We have no leader, no numbers and now, no Chantry support.” “We have no other choice.” Cassandra interrupted, looking down at the book in front of them. “We must act quickly to restore order. With you at our side.” It takes a moment for the warrior to realize all eyes have fallen on him once more, gulping under the pressure of what those words entailed. “Me? You want me to help you?” He asks Leliana nodding to his hand once more.

“The Breach is stable but we believe we may yet be able to seal it. You hold the key to doing so...but we will not keep you here.” Carver looks down at his hand, curling and uncurling his fingers as he stares at the green mark, looking back to Cassandra. “This could start a war. Well, a bigger one.” Cassandra’s face grows somehow sterner, her eyes filled with both sadness and determination. “We are already at war. You are already in the middle of it; the mark brands you as such.” His eyes trail back to this mark, this ‘brand’, going back to Cassandra and thinking over what they had told him.

The Templars were gone, the Circle was destroyed, the Chantry was in shambles and Orlais was too busy fighting amongst themselves to do shit. Someone had to step up, someone with no ties to any faction who could move without waiting for someone to approve them taking a piss. “If you’re really trying to do what you say you’re doing, I’m in.” He extends his hand for a brief moment before he notices Cassandra’s hesitance, the man laughing nervously before offering his unmarred left hand instead. If she lets out a sigh of relief no one mentions it, on shaking her hand once she has taken his own.

“Go,” Cassandra says after letting go of the man’s hand, stepping back with a smile. “The people are eager to see their savior among them. I’m sure it will put many at ease seeing you are well again, Herald.” At this new moniker the so-called Herald can’t help but sigh in annoyance, turning around and heading for the door. “Why do people always give me nicknames I don’t want?” With that he heads out of the war room, exiting the chantry to see what could be done around the newly fledged Inquisition. First though he would find something to eat and perhaps someone to talk to who wasn’t going to treat him like the Maker’s gift to the world. 

How unfortunate that there was only one he could think of. “Junior! You’re awake!” Varric called out, motioning him over towards the fire, the warrior nearly sighing in relief as he wandered to the dwarf’s side and sat down. “So,” Varric begins, grabbing a bowl and scooping some of the stew from the cauldron simmering over the flames, “Herald of Andraste. That nickname good enough for you?” He teases, the human letting out a sigh as he takes the offered bowl of food. “I think I prefer ‘Junior’.” Popping the sludge into his mouth he briefly notes he’s had worse and hey, at least it’s fresh.

He’s silent as he looks off into the distance, to the people still coming to Haven in search of safety, of purpose. How long before even more began coming here to help with the Inquisition? He’d have lost his appetite thinking about it if not for the fact he hadn’t eaten in three days. “You know my brother better than I do Varric.” He finally asks, leaning closer to the fire to warm his bones, the dwarf raising a brow at him. “What would Garrett think about this situation?” Varric’s gaze softened at the memory of his good friend, looking off into the distance as if trying to find the Champion there. “Probably cursing every existing God that he has to go through this bullshit again.”

This makes Carver laugh, stirring his stew as he thinks about Fenris and Hawke, wondering if they knew of what had transpired. Could they see the Breach from where they were at now? What about Isabella, Merrill, the rest of their comrades? Would they see the giant hole in the sky and come to arms or would they too be tired of dealing with the world’s problems? “Have you told him yet?” Looking out of the corner of his eye he gauged the dwarf’s reaction, who simply shook his head as he turned his attention to the human. “If I did he’d come running. And...he’s been through enough.” 

The younger man finds himself laughing at the dwarf’s point, smiling solemnly up at the sky. “I don’t know who he’s going to be madder at. Me for getting myself in this mess or you for not telling him.” He muses, Varric chuckling as he crosses his arms, sitting down beside Carver at the fire. “Oh, definitely you. You nearly died TWICE. Speaking of,” Varric hesitantly reaches out before he gently pats the human on the back. “Don’t go making it a habit. That last time really scared me, Carver. I don’t want to tell Hawke his little brother got his dream of being a martyr.” The storyteller muses before he looks the man over thoughtfully.

“How much do you remember Junior? Isn’t there anything you remember?” Varric asks and the deep frown that answers him only concerns the dwarf more. “It’s more than that.” Reaching up the warrior rubs the side of his head, staring into the flames as he tries to recall anything of use but finds only broken fragments that don’t quite fit together. “The last thing I recall is leaving Brother and Fenris to head back to Orlais.” “What?!” Varric shouts out, eyes wide as he stares at his charge. “Maker’s Breath, that was over a year ago!”

Carver’s eyes widen slightly, cursing under his breath and sliding the now-empty bowl away. “Piss on it all.” He groans out, curling into himself and putting his hands in his hair for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to think. He couldn’t recall anything clearly that could point to a lead and once more the Herald found himself lost. “I need to hit something.” He starts, standing up and walking to the gates of Haven, Varric hot on his heels. “Junior I don’t think right now is the time. With everything you’ve been through you should be taking it easy,” “I have been sleeping for three days!” Carver hisses out, glaring down at his friend and narrowing his eyes. 

“Besides, people need to see the Great Herald of Andraste is strong right? I can’t afford to rest.” It sounds more like an excuse than a burden and now he’s thinking about just that. If the scene that greeted him upon his awakening was anything to go by the people around here saw him as a sign of hope. He felt the eyes of every person he passed on his way to the training area, letting out a huff as he picks up his favored weapons. He goes to check the condition of the shield he’ll be using, staring at the blank canvas. For no apparent reason the vision from the crater returns to him once more. Charging into the room with his shield raised and ready, the image blurred by the fog of the Fade.

He tries to trace the lines of the design that adorned the shield in that faded memory, the curve of lines before letting out a huff. Trying to remember something that should mean so little was giving him a headache and yet he couldn’t take his mind off it. Was that image important to his past or was it important because it stood out? Did it mean anything special or did it mean nothing at all? If it didn’t mean anything then why couldn’t Carver get it out of his damned mind? 

With a frustrated growl his slaps the shield on and grabs onto a blade, moving to the training dummy and swinging with purpose. Jab, step back, swing. Raise the shield, slam into the chest, push to the side or down. He moves in practiced motions, putting more effort into the actions than he needed to and despite the aches in his muscles pushing himself further. When he charges at the dummy again he hears the crack of wood, the figure bending in half and causing him to stumble forward, cursing loudly as he nearly fell to the ground.

“Too much force in the torso, not enough balance on my feet.” He grumbles, looking to the broken dummy as something clicks in his mind. He’s heard those words before, again and again in frustration and teasing tones. It brings forth a familiarity that strikes him deeper than any blade, lowering his blade and shield as the advice rolls in his head. He can’t put a face or name to the voice and he doesn’t even know what they sound like. But he knows it was someone and the fact he can’t remember who that was infuriated him more than the fact the voice was right.

Gritting his teeth he lets out an angry shout, tossing the weapon to the ground and letting the shield fall with it with a clatter. He storms off away from the safe walls of the small town, not sure where he was going, just eager to be alone. He has to be strong, has to show the people their trust in him isn’t misplaced and he’s in no state for any of that. So Carver does what he has always done; he finds somewhere he can hide and brood alone, where he won’t be judged and someone won’t feel like they have to comfort him like a child.

He manages to find a small cottage hidden in the nearby woods and he enters without thinking much of it. A quick look around and he determines the place is abandoned, with papers strewn about and signs that the fire lit in the fireplace had died with the passage of time. He sits in one of the chairs and covers his face with his hands, letting out a shaky breath as he at last lets down his guard fully. His body, usually forced tight, relaxes and breaks out into a full body shake, eyes clenched to prevent tears escaping from his eyes. 

A year. At least a full year had been wiped from his memory, leaving behind only ashes that he desperately tried to grasp only to have them slide through his fingers. The last time he had felt so lost was when he received a letter from Varric’s men, written by his brother to inform him of their mother’s murder. Only then had he realized his scathing remarks and heated gaze were the last things his mother had of him and the thought absolutely broke him. The last image of a woman he claimed to hold dear was one of her crying because of him. 

He tried to go back to Kirkwall then but the Qunari attack made traveling to the White City of Chains impossible. It wasn’t until a year later when Hawke received an invitation to an event held at Chateau Haine in Orlais that the brothers were able to reunite in person. Sweet Maker that had been a bloody mess, not to mention he got kicked out of his mercenary band for ditching them to assist Hawke in the strange tale he had gotten himself tangled up in. 

When he looks up he catches himself in the mirror and winces at the awful sight. He looks tired, beaten like a man dragged through the Fade and back. He looks...like Garrett actually. Only now does he realize that this must be similar to what his brother had felt after being named the Champion of Kirkwall. The image of a relaxed, joking mage had just been a front worn by Hawke, just like the strong, unmoving warrior that Carver was trying to portray. “Great.” He laughs weakly, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. “Now I’m starting to compare myself to brother.”

With a sigh he faces himself in the mirror once more, smirking at the irony of the image before him. “Finally able to call myself your equal brother. Feels like shit.” Carver muses, standing up and looking down at his hand, the mark glowing faintly despite the light pouring from the windows. “What would Garrett do?” He finds himself whispering, letting out a bark of laughter as he shakes his head. Can’t have Varric hearing him say things like that, the dwarf would never let it go.

Well, he’s already said it aloud so he might as well give it some honest thought. Garrett, softy that he was, would help every stray person he could find with even the smallest of tasks. The Champion wouldn’t be hiding himself away in a broken-down cottage, running away from the responsibilities fate thrust upon him. He’d get up and do something about it, face the story that was being written, take the quill and write it himself rather than waiting for things to work out. “Ok. Do something…” He trails off, taking a step towards the door but stopping, looking over his shoulder. 

Varric would always say Garrett was more like a thief than a mage with his need to check every nook and cranny and nick everything he could get away with. If anyone asked he could simply say he was gathering resources for the Inquisition. So he begins to look about, looking in the drawers, in a vase before spotting something interesting in the most obvious of places. “This is...a potion?” He muses, flipping through the notes before letting out a curious hum, folding them up. “What do you know. Brother was onto something after all.” 

With that he leaves the cottage, heading back to Haven with newfound determination. If this was the fate that he had been handed then Carver was going to do what he always did when faced with a challenge; fight. Fight against the Breach, the Chantry, against anything that stood in his way. He’d find out who was responsible for throwing his life into chaos, punch them into the Fade and then go on with his life. His normal, quiet life that he was quickly missing the longer this went on. 

\----

As it turns out, this meant going to Orlais to ease the fears of the Chantry. How that was supposed to work out he wasn’t sure but it was at least grabbing everyone’s attention. Though that too was starting to become a problem. “So, the Templars are here.” Carver mused, looking towards the gates as Cassandra’s jaw dropped in shock, shaking her head. “They need protection? From us?!” The Seeker gasps out, the human letting out a bark of laughter as he shakes his head. “More like to protect them from the Blasphemous Herald of Andraste. It doesn’t matter.” He stomps towards the city, eyes narrowed in defiance. “Just means I have to convince more people.”

As he heads towards the meeting place near the docks the people part for the Herald and his party, some stumbling backward while others moved slowly, trying to get a closer look. He hears a Chantry Mother preaching about the evils of the Inquisition before turning her ire onto the approaching mercenary, who stands before the podium with a huff. “I never claimed to be some Holy Prophet!” Carver shouted out, looking around at the crowd who watched him in turn. “The only thing I claim is that I want to close the Breach! To stop this madness before things get out of control!”

“It is too late!” The Chantry Mother calls out, the crunching of metal on stone catching their attention, all eyes turning towards the Templars. “The Templars have returned to the Chantry! They will deal with you and those who follow the Inquisition!” Carver isn’t so sure about that. The way their leader walks is with purpose but they do not look like they are preparing for a fight. Instead, they practically push past the Chantry representatives, one even going so far as to punch the woman who had been speaking previously.

“Hey!” Carver, brash as always, moves quickly to stand in front of the podium as the aggressive Templar’s move away, preventing one from returning to supposedly help her up. “Do not trouble yourself. They are beneath us.” He looks towards the leader, a gruff old man with a cold look in his eyes, Cassandra approaching him with a concerned look in her eyes. “Lord Seeker! What is the meaning of this?!” She urges, the Herald looking between the two of them and shaking his head. “Enough Cassandra.” He growls out, standing up a bit straighter. “The Templars came here to make a point, as did we.” The Hawke looks the man directly in his eyes, huffing. 

This ‘Lord Seeker’ then begins to proclaim that it is the Chantry that failed for binding them and preventing them from purging the mages, calling out the Inquisition as a heretical movement. He goes so far as to say that the only destiny that was ordained here was his own and then he takes his Templar’s and marches off, Carver staring at them for a moment before looking down to Varric. “Was I ever that bad? I feel like I owe someone an apology.” Varric laughs at the remark, shaking his head as he waves the Herald off dismissively. “Junior you were a brat but you weren’t even close to that. Besides, you’ve gotten better.”

Carver then turns his attention to Cassandra, raising a brow at her before shaking his head. “I don’t think the Templars will be helping anyone, let alone us.” He then takes a step towards the Chantry Mother, reaching out for a moment, hesitating as he retracts his hand. “I...are you all right?” She scoffs, looking up to the Herald who winces at the shiner she’s now sporting. “This must please you greatly, Herald.” “Don’t call me that.” Carver urges, letting out a long, annoyed sigh as he stands up. “I don’t know if I was chosen or not. I meant what I said before; the only reason why I stand with the Inquisition is because I can do something about the Breach in the sky.” He reaches into his pouch and pulls out a red healing potion, setting it on the wood platform before stepping back. “Maybe there is something you can do as well.”

With that he turns around, moving away from the now scattered crowd to investigate the city he once knew so well. He is familiar with Val Royeaux but only vaguely, having traveled here several times in the past for business. He can’t remember anything recent but he knows enough to know that an arrow flying down from nowhere is not a common occurrence. As it turns out he had grabbed someone’s attention, one ‘Red Jenny’ who believed there was a noble out for his blood. To that end Carver would like to add ‘What’s new’? Half of Thedas seems to want his head at the moment. 

It’s not the last of the invitation he receives heading out of Val Royeaux; there is a man dressed in a fine mage’s robe who hands him an invitation to a party held by Madame de Fer. Not exactly his type of party but he needed something to pass the time while he was waiting for night to fall so he could meet with this ‘Red Jenny’. Then there was the far more surprising invitation when they were approached by Grand Enchanter Fiona, the leader of the rebel mages who urged them to come to Redcliffe. 

It allowed the warrior to breathe a sigh of relief when he realized they at least had a in to one of the factions they needed. Carver didn’t care about the politics of things, siding with either the mages or templars. They needed to close the Breach and if the mages were willing to at least talk to them they were already miles ahead of the Templars on his priority list. The Herald felt they had a clear path to stopping this madness and now he was eager to just get it done with. It looked like a straight forward path, a clear solution to what needed to be done. Should be easy right?

\---

One aggravating and stuck up mage and funny street elf later Carver realized they couldn’t be further from the truth. “After what happened in Orlais, hang what the Lord Seeker thinks.” Cullen began to argue, leaning his hands on the war table with a stern look. “We don’t need to convince him. There are surely Templars who have not abandoned their senses, we need only to get their support.” “What of the mages then?” Leliana urged, looking to the Commander with a deep frown on her face. “They are more than willing to talk to us. We would be foolish to dismiss them.”

“She’s right.” Carver points out, crossing his arms while he looks to all three of the Inquisition’s advisors. “We can at least see what they want while we search for a way to get the Templar’s attention. If that is even possible at this point.” He looks to Josephine, expecting an answer from their diplomat and she smiles, lifting her quill as she gives him one. “It will take a week or two but I believe with enough pressure from the Nobles of Orlais they will be unable to ignore us.” “And in the meantime, we can approach the rebel mages and see what they want.” Carver helpfully pointed out, spreading out his arms while shaking his head. “Or we can sit on our hands and wait for the Nobles to give us the time of day. What do you think, Commander?”

Cullen meets his challenge with a scowl before giving up, flinging his hands into the air. "Fine. You...have a point." The Commander grumbles out, rubbing the back of his head as Carver lets out a deep sigh of relief, closing his eyes for a moment as he revels in the silence. “Now that that is taken care of,” the ambassador begins, one of Carver’s eyes cracking open to look at the Antivan, “there is a matter I wish to speak to you about, Herald.” He groans, shoulders sagging as he covers his eyes with his hand, rubbing his temple. “It is about your family...specifically, Gamlen.”

“Maker’s hairy ass, what has he done now?” He growled out, having it up to here with his uncle’s antics. Once he had admitted to sympathizing with the man, having to look after his elderly parents only to be basically left out of the will. As the years went on Carver became witness to Gamlen’s self-destruction and realized began to despise the man’s attitude toward life. He could only imagine what the idiot had gotten himself, and likely the Inquisition, into now. “He has apparently told his debt collectors that the Inquisition will handle his accounts.” He very much wants to smack his head against the wall. Instead, Carver turns his attention to Leliana.

“That likely means he’s gotten himself ass deep in the Carta again. Any chance your people could go and politely tell them where to shove my uncle’s debts?” The spymaster raises a brow before gently putting a finger to her lips, thinking it over and nodding her head. “That might be the best way to handle things. Your Uncle will have to be dealt with eventually, however.” “My Uncle,” the Herald began, “is more likely to be his own end than anyone else’s. Send him a little note telling him to piss off and if that doesn’t work we’ll take things from there.” The group nods and disperses at last, the Herald leading the way out of the room and began walking straight to the double doors. 

His plans are heading to The Singing Maiden to visit one of the newest members of the Inquisition, Sera. He’d already spoken with Vivienne and after only a few minutes he felt like he was reading one of Ander’s Manifestos again. Annoyed, bored and falling asleep all at the same time. Perhaps he’d willingly travel with her if he had to deal with nobles in Orlais but after talking with her only once he wondered if perhaps she hid her staff up her ass. Sera was her direct opposite in every manner; rude, crass, chaos incarnate. Now that was his kind of friend right there. Someone who didn’t give a rats ass about titles or glowing appendages and just wanted to get shit done.

The Herald stepped out into the crisp mountain air, taking a deep breath as he stretched out his limbs. “Excuse me. Is there someone from the Inquisition I can talk with? My name is Cremisius Aclassi, with The Bull’s Chargers.” Carver’s blue eyes pop open at the sound of a new voice, looking over to the tents surrounding the requisition table. Quartermaster Threnn was speaking to a man perhaps younger than him, dressed in armor unfamiliar to him. “If you have a request you can put it on the table to be reviewed. You’ll wait just like everyone else.” Carver laughs as he hears the man sigh in annoyance, deciding he can make a brief detour from his much-needed drink to help the traveler out.

“Who is it you need to speak with? The leads of the Inquisition just got out of the meeting so maybe I can help you out with that.” He uncharacteristically offers, the stranger perking up and turning to face him. “Thank the Maker. I thought that I,” the words catch in the man’s throat as he stares at Carver, eyes wide at the sight of him. The first thought the came into Carver’s mind was that the man had not been expecting the Herald himself to address the issue and thus he sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

“Yes I’m the Herald of Andraste, yes I have the time to be helping you with your issue but please call me,” “Carver.” For some reason his name on this stranger's lips sends a shiver down his spine, a look of confusion answering the mercenary's shock. It's barely visible but he can tell the mercenary is shaking in his armor, brown eyes trailing up and down the Herald's form before he finally speaks again. "You're alive?"


	3. Horns up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lead to Carver's missing memories lands on the doorsteps of the Haven Chantry. It leads him to the mercenary Captain Iron Bull and the Chargers who claim once knew him as one of their own. Was he though? And why can't he help but feel there's something in this story that's missing?

Caver stares at the man, blinking in confusion as he takes a step back from him. ‘You’re alive’? What exactly did that mean? Something slides into place, a realization he hadn’t thought of in his shock. This might be someone he knew from before the blast, someone he had forgotten. Yet if that was the case why did he assume the warrior had died? He opens his mouth to ask this among many other questions but before he could get a word out this ‘Krem’ was asking his own. “Maker’s hairy balls do you know how worried we were about you?!” He scolded, glaring up at Carver as he took a step back, the Herald wincing in response.

“When the Conclave went up in smoke we thought you were dead! Chief has been beside himself I...why haven’t you said anything you piece of shit?!” The mercenary has a blade at his neck before he can continue, Cullen glaring hard at this new threat that had come into their camp. “Do you have any idea who you are threatening?” The former Templar growls out, Krem turning slightly as he raises his hands defensively. He need not worry though for the Herald grabs the blade gently and pushes it to the side slowly. 

“I think he might know more about that then you, Commander.” Now both men are confused, Carver clearing his throat as he feels the eyes of every person who had gathered around them bearing down on him. “Look. You’ve got questions and funnily enough, so do I.” He lifts his right hand to reveal the glowing green mark on his hand, the mercenary’s mouth falling open as his eyes widen. His brown eyes switch from the mark to Carver repeatedly, licking his lips before he clears his throat. 

“Ah...well. Shit.” Carver laughs out at Krem’s crass response, shaking his head with a weary smile on his face. “Now, can we go inside and figure this out? People are starting to stare.” Cullen looked about them, noticing those who had come to see what all the noise was about, letting out a sigh as he sheathes his blade. “Very well. But you will answer for what you’ve done.” Cullen huffed out, Krem rolling his eyes and following the two into the Chantry, Carver deciding the best place to do this was in the war room.

“I can’t remember anything that happened in the last year.” Carver immediately said before either man could get a word out, his expression falling as he continued. “Probably even beyond that. Everything except the nightmare of the Fade is just...gone.” He admits, Krem looking at him in shock, eyes wide as the Herald finished. Krem remains silent for a few moments before he clears his throat, pressing a hand to his chest before he begins his side of things.

“I’ll start from the beginning then. My name is Cremisius Aclassi, Lieutenant of the Iron Bull’s Chargers, a mercenary company out of Orlais lead by The Iron Bull.” His gaze turns soft, lowering his hand as he takes a deep breath, clearing his throat. “I came here because our Chief has decided it might be good working with the Inquisition.”

“As for my outburst earlier I...well, as I said. We thought Carver died in the explosion with everyone else.” He finished, his eyes growing sad before he bowed his head to the Herald. “Sorry about that by the way. I was...not myself.” The warrior takes in the man’s reaction as Cullen observes the pair, looking back and forth in between them trying to determine if anyone was lying. Briefly, the former Templar wishes he had fetched Leliana first but that would make things more awkward than they already are. 

“How did you know I came up here then?” Carver breaks the silence with his question, Krem looking up at him and then away, biting his lip. He nervously shifted from one foot to the next before he finally speaks. “I’m not quite sure. You said something about how you felt like this was the sort of shit your brother would get involved with and you were bound and determined to go. Chief gave you the excuse of extending the Charger’s services to the Divine if things went tits up. Tits up did not include the sky being torn open.” The Herald listens intently, frowning as Krem’s story went on while he scratches his chin. Eventually, after another long silence, the Herald sighs, nodding his head in agreement.

“That sounds like something I’d do. Figures this is my fault.” He mumbles while looking at his hand, staring into the mark before he looks to Cullen as he starts up. “Forgive me for interrupting but can we trust what this man says?” The Templar questions, looking between Carver and the mercenary before going on. “While your mental state is not common knowledge someone might have still told them about you and it is no secret who you are. If they read the book,” “If they read the book then their image of me would be of a stalwart defender who stands by his brother through thick and thin, admiring the Champion and following his lead even when his decisions are dumb.” Carver mocks, Krem snorting at the young man’s version of events, the Herald crossing his arms with a smirk. “You read the book as well didn’t you? Does that sound anything like me?”

Cullen looks to Carver sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head and smiling just faintly at the younger man. “True, but you are not the eager young man I once knew you as either. You’ve changed over the years.” “We have proof.” Krem interrupted, raising a hand before clearing his throat. “Well not with me. It’s at our camp on the Storm Coast.” The Lieutenant pointed out, Carver raising a brow and thinking over all the information that was at his disposal. In his desperation, he wanted to believe that he had some lead on his forgotten past but he couldn’t deny that what Cullen said made sense. So he would have to approach this carefully. 

“The Storm Coast you said?” Carver asked, receiving a nod of agreement before he looks to the Commander. “I think we got word that some of our men went missing there. I was going to look into that so we might as well knock two birds out with one stone.” He pats Cullen’s shoulder, smiling at the other gently before he lets go. “See that Krem gets a full meal and rest at the Singing Maiden before we depart. I’ll grab my things and then he can show us the way.” He hated to drag the other along like this but he couldn’t let the mercenary leave ahead of them. If he went to warn his crew about what happened then it would be difficult to read the situation, regardless of whether or not they were actually telling the truth.

\-----

Unfortunately, Solas was unavailable to take the Storm Coast, meaning he was stuck with Vivienne for magical support. Krem was true to his word, staying with them the entire time they were heading to the Storm Coast, even as they got sidetracked clearing out the remaining rogue Templars and apostate mages. He’d be happy to tell the people of Redcliffe that the threat was taken care of and that should secure the refugees at last. He would admit that perhaps the Court Enchanter knew more than simple parlor tricks but he had been right; he got along far better with Sera. Even if the elf had her doubts about him.

“Soooo...younger brother to the Champion, yeah?” The archer began, trailing behind Carver with an appraising look, hands behind her head. “I’ve read that book. Bits and pieces. Heard from people who got out of Kirkwall too.” The elf mused, Carver, rolling his eyes before calling out over his shoulder. “If you have questions about what really happened you’re better off asking Varric.” She takes several large steps so she’s standing at Carver’s left, Cassandra keeping a close eye on her from his right. “Yeah and when you did he was fucking rich. You could have just stayed you know. So why didn’t you?”

The warrior frowns slightly at this question, thinking it over before he looked to the sky. “Honestly? Because back then I was a brat who had something to prove and I couldn’t do that living in the same city as my brother.” He firmly stated, looking over to Sera with a smile. “If I was more like I am today though I still wouldn’t have stayed. Kirkwall felt too much like a prison, not just because I felt tied to my family but just the walls and the rules and all the other shit. I missed the open air of Fereldin and I missed being able to go about as I pleased without people constantly questioning my motives. Which is odd since I thought about joining the Templars for a time. Really should thank Cullen for keeping me out of the Order.”

“Yes, because a strict structure wouldn’t have improved your life.” Vivienne mused, Carver half glaring at her before pointing something out. “If you knew what the Templars of Kirkwall were like you wouldn’t say that. Cullen was just about the only good sort there with power; Meredith willfully let her men get away with whatever they pleased as long as it kept the mages in line and after the Red Lyrium? It just got worse, according to Varric.” Sera hopped ahead, turning about and walking backwards so she could face their Herald. “Yeah, but what about the money? The nice home, villa, servants taking care of you?”

“Maker no!” Carver laughed out, a broad smile on his face as he shakes his head, waving off the notion dismissively. “Stuffy parties and stuffier shirts? My mother tossing every eligible woman my way hoping something sticks? I’d rather get into a fight at the nearest tavern and sleep with a woman who will at least admit she’s only after my coin with a straight face.” Sera laughs as she skips to the Herald’s side, nudging his side with a grin on her face. “Oh? Get any offers being touched by the Maker? Speaking of,” she points to his hand, “does that feel weird when you go to polish your blade and all that?” 

There’s a collective groan of disgust from the women in the party, Krem holding back his laughter with a snort as Carver blushes red. “Polish my...NO! It’s doesn’t feel different than anything else!...Regardless of where I touch or who I touch!” “Ohhhhh, so the Herald does have some fun after all!” “SERA!” Carver growled out, the archer cackling as she jumps away, swinging her arms with a hum. “You know what Herald? You’re all right. Think I’m going to enjoy this.” She muses, looking to the sky as the first drops of rainfall on her head, Cassandra looking as well with a contemplating look. “We are getting close to the Storm Coast. We should find Leliana’s scouts soon enough.”

With that silence fell over the group once more but only briefly. This time it was the Court Enchanter who spoke up, louder as the wind and rain drowned out most noise. “Actually Herald, I have some questions about your brother as well.” The long-suffering sigh that leaves Carver’s throat would make Fenris proud, looking to Vivienne with a huff. “Let me guess,” he started in annoyance, “you want to know about my brother and Anders.” “That terrorist started this whole mess Herald, you can not deny that,” Vivienne said with a sneer, Carver shrugging his shoulders as he turned his attention to the road ahead. “Never said he wasn’t but I’m not going to say he was always a raving lunatic. In fact, he wasn’t raving at all.” He frowns deeply, the rain coming down from above reminding him of the day everything came to a head and the world his brother knew fell apart. 

“Anders was incredibly calm the entire time. He knew what he was doing, what it would cause, the cost of what his actions were. He was at peace with it all...I think that’s what hurt Garrett the most.” “Yet somehow your brother did not see this coming.” The court enchanter stated accusingly, Garrett looking over his shoulder, glaring at the woman. “No. When you love someone you look past the lies and the hurt. You try to help them, save them, even if you realize they’re too far gone.” He turns his attention away, taking a deep, calming breath before he added, “I get why you’re confused though. People like you aren’t capable of loving anyone that deeply.” Sera makes an approving noise as she bounces to the warrior’s side, laughing as Cassandra winces at the stinging remark. 

“Oh? You know me that well already?” The enchanter scoffs, the Herald rolling his shoulders in reply. “Oh, there are plenty of rumors. Stories. I’m sure if I looked around I might even find a book! That’s all I really need to know and understand someone, isn’t it?” “Carver,” Krem called out over the rain, pointing to the Inquisition flags waving in the distance, the warrior sighing in relief. “Finally. Business face Vivienne. Or can you not act civil without a mask?” He snarled, vowing this would be the last time that he brought the court mage on any outing, regardless of what was involved. As much as he butted heads with his brother he would always defend him, always. 

He spoke only briefly with Scout Harding before they were on the move again, map of the area in hand as Krem began to head for the coast. It wasn’t long before the sounds of fighting reached their ears, the Tevinter man cursing as he picks up the pace. “Dammit! They must have spotted our camp! Horns up Carver!” Carver frowns as he draws his shield and blade, eyes focused on the path ahead. “Heck of an introduction. Let’s move!” He roared out, Cassandra scowling as she chased after her charge, mumbling something about having to babysit the young Hawke and his newfound elven friend.

He sees Krem slam into an opponent and targets another dressed in the same manner, adrenaline in his veins. This was so much better than political talks and strategizing at the war table. Fighting, turning words into action, that was what he lived for. Let people like Vivienne and Sister Leliana dance around each other with words, Carver would rather run straight to the point. There’s something more than simply fighting underneath it all though. He feels a familiar sense of flow in the chaos, voices lingering in his ear like distant echoes. 

When he spots the last archer running he drops his sword, swinging his new chain once, twice before throwing, grabbing the poor sod and pulling him back. Only half of the body reaches him though as a giant ax cleaves the man in two, bright laughter filling the air. “Damn that was a good one! Anyone down?” That voice, rough yet somehow soft, reaches his ears as he finally takes in the man who landed the killing blow and...oh. So THAT’S why they were called the Bull’s Chargers.

Tal’Vashoth. After what happened in Kirkwall had he really joined up with a mercenary band led by a Tal’Vashoth? He wanders back to his own party, looking them over for wounds and even offering the court enchanter a potion before he takes in the people around him. He could count a dwarf some elves, a mage, several humans and one he knew was a Vint so perhaps this ‘Bull’ was different? “Well?” Cassandra whispers, keeping a close eye on Krem as he goes to Bull’s side, taking in how the man reacts. “Do you...remember anything?” 

The question brings a frown to the Herald’s face because no, he doesn’t, not like one should remember a group like this. The group felt familiar but he didn’t know them and the frustratingly familiar feeling of being lost clouded his thoughts once more. He wants to remember these people, wants it to be true but what if it’s not? What if he’s just trying to make something out of dry sand and anything recognizably similar will do for his fractured mind? His mouth opens briefly to finally answer but hangs there when someone from the Chargers speaks up.

“Carver?” His eyes, which had fallen shut when he drifted off into his thoughts, snap open, looking to the owner of that voice with curiosity. Unknowingly he takes a step forward, licking his already wet lips as he takes the man in. By his tone he’s Fereldin, an older man than himself, his hair shaved close to his head and he’s looking at Carver like he’s seen a ghost. In his defense the warrior finds himself frozen like one as the man steps closer to inspect him, eyes narrowed to take in more of his features before his eyes widen. “Andraste’s flaming tits. You’re actually alive!” He laughs out, shaking his head as his outburst grabs the attention of more mercenaries. 

“Take a look at this! He’s alive!” The man grabs his arms and the look of relief on his face is so genuine even Cassandra is letting down her guard, letting him slip away as more of the Chargers turn their attention to the commotion. Soon there are more exclamations of shock, more cries of his name as people gather around him, the Herald stunned as he was drawn further into the Charger’s camp. He’s unaware of it but Bull’s attention is on him as well, watching his boy’s swarm the poor lad as Krem stands by his side.

“...Son of a bitch.” The Qunari breathes out, Krem putting a hand gently on the big guy’s back, looking up at him. “Take it easy on him Chief. He’s been through the Fade and back. Literally.” One good eye trails down to Carver’s hands, just barely catching a glimpse of the green light that flickers from the mass of bodies, frowning as he pieces together what happened. Well, this was going to make things considerably trickier than he originally anticipated and in truth, he hadn’t expected things to be tricky at all. Coming out as a Ben’Hasrath wasn’t supposed to be a big deal but Carver was, or rather, had been one of his boys. That made explaining things...complicated.

“Hey! Give the guy some room to breathe! He’s got an extra hole in him after all.” Bull grunted out, the swarm parting a bit and looking between their boss and Carver in confusion, the man laughing. “I send you up there as my messenger and you come down here Andraste’s? What, I’m not paying you enough?” Bull lets out a bark of laughter, gently leading Carver away from the chaos of the camp, calling over his shoulder for Krem to clean up and open a cask for the boys. 

“So...Herald of Andraste.” Bull muses, letting go of the human to sit down on a fallen tree. “How does that happen?” “Well,” he rubs the back of his head, eyes gazing up at the Breach, “apparently some guards saw me out of the Fade with a woman behind me.” Bull grunts, the two sitting in awkward silence before the Qunari breaks it. “Was she hot?” Carver does not know what instills him to punch the man’s shoulder but he’s laughing all the same. For the first time since this mess started, he’s actually laughing about it. “If I could remember I’d tell you. What I do remember is...not pleasant.” The tone shifts back as he recalls the disturbing images the Fade left him with, shivering as Bull answers with a grunt of his own.

“Lucky you.” “I also can’t remember anything from the past year or so.” This news caused Bull’s pointed ears to perk up a bit, the man looking up at Carver with his one good eye, rethinking his strategy. “That’s...damn.” He stands up, the Qunari looking up at the Breach as the Herald begins to question him. “So, Krem tells me I worked for you at some point. He also says that you’re interested in working for the Inquisition.” Bull looks back to his former Charger, nodding his head in agreement with what he had to say. “Pretty much. We’re good, got references all across Orlais and I know the Inquisition has the money. There is something you should know though. Odds are it’s going to piss you off.”

Carver raises a brow at this, following Bull to where the ocean lapped at the shore, crossing his arms as the Qunari goes on. “You know what the Ben’Hasrath are from your little run-in with Tallis, right?” The Herald’s thoughts drift back to Chateau Haine, how Tallis had used his brother’s connections to get in. Truth be told the elf wasn’t exactly a bad person and if she hadn’t said something they would have never known she was ever a spy. So then why would Bull bring it...oh. His eyes narrow as pieces fall into place and he has to admit Bull’s right. He is pissed. 

“You’re a spy.” He says bluntly, glaring up at the Tal’Vashoth, no, Qunari, and then laughs. “Is up and saying you’re a spy part of your training?” Bull chuckles, looking down at the human with a weak smile. “Not really no, but I figured I couldn’t hide it for long from something called ‘The Inquisition’. Would probably get a lot more shit like that too.” The man muses and Carver can honestly say he’s right. It still doesn’t make this fact sit well in his stomach though. “Wait...does anyone else know?” He asks, looking back to the Chargers and Bull does as well, nodding his head. “Those who have been with me long enough to know they’re in for the long haul. None of them are part of the Qun though. Only one you have to worry bout is me.”

Carver is still looking at the group in contemplation as the big guy looks to him, letting out a sigh. “Would you believe me if I said you were one of those guys?” He asked, Carver’s head jerking back to the Qunari in shock, the Iron Bull smiling slightly. “When I heard about the Conclave I figured it would be good to have someone in there scoping things out. The Divine was there and I was sure no one was going to be stupid enough to try shit with her around. I was going to send Grim,” he points to a burly man with blond hair, “but when you heard about it you insisted on taking his place. Said you’d even flaunt your relationship with the Champion if you had to. It was tempting, but I couldn’t let you do it without knowing the truth.”

Carver’s eyes softened, looking to the ground as he thought over the man’s story. That sounded like something he would do, something he would say but only for someone he cared for. Someone who had his respect. If he still thought of Bull that way when he was told the truth it said a lot about the Qunari beside him; if that was the truth. “So, you’re a truthful spy. Why do you want to join the Inquisition?” It was easier to look towards a foreseeable future rather than the past he could not remember and Bull seemed to have no problems changing the subject.

“My people are concerned about the giant hole in the sky. The Rifts pouring demons out of them. And this ‘Red Lyrium’ crap?” He growls to which Carver lets out a laugh, nodding his head as he looks back to Bull as he goes on. “Par Vollen wants to know if we have to invade to stop the world from tearing itself about but there’s a rumor going about that you can stitch up the sky. It would put some minds at ease if they got reports from the front lines that someone was actually reasonable enough to deal with this before things got out of hand.” A scoff leaves Carver’s throat, turning fully to Bull with a smirk. “So the Qun has more sense than the Chantry. Didn’t see that coming.” He breathes out, looking over his shoulder at the sky, Bull looking down at the human as he goes on.

“It’s not just them who will be getting information though. The Inquisition will have access to every Ben’Hassreth report I receive in turn. Then, there’s me.” He sticks his chest out a bit as the warrior turns his attention to him once more, the big guy smiling. “You need a front line bodyguard. Someone who can take the hits and dish them out. Whatever you’re up against; mercenaries, demons? The bigger the better.” After seeing the Qunari fight just now he knows how useful someone like Bull could be on the field and he was also, supposedly, a spy. Brains and brawn were a unique combination, one Carver was lacking in, and he gives up with a growl.

“Every letter you write goes through our spymaster. One wrong move, one hint you’re working against the Inquisition and I’ll let her have you.” The answering growl is not what he expects, filled with desire as his lips quirk into an easy smirk. “I’d let her have me before that but sure. Whatever you think is best Carver. Ah, sorry.” He chuckles, bowing mockingly with a hand over his chest. “Herald.” He groans in disgust, arms rolling back in defeat as he closes his blue eyes. “Don’t call me that. Didn’t I have a nickname or something around here? Like Krem?” 

He motions to the Tevinter warrior and Bull looks at him with a raised brow. “Why would I give you a nickname? Your name is already great!” He grins, opening and closing his clawed hands. “Carver. Sounds like some badass whose known for really digging into his enemies.” The human startles slightly, leaning back as he blinks in shock. Then Bull goes on. “Besides, it works out great! ‘Carve the enemy, Carve me another slice of ham,” and the feeling is gone, “Carving me a nice stack of,” “Ok, I get it.” 

Bull chuckles but decides to lay off the jokes, for now, patting the man on the back. “I’ll think of some new ones. Krem!” He walks back to the group with the Herald in tow, the man nodding towards a small chest. “That ones yours. As a general rule, we don’t go through the personal effects of our dead; we try to get in touch with family for a couple of months and if that doesn’t work we bury it with them. Can’t find the key though.” “I have it on me at all times. Or well, had.” Carver mused, moving past the Lieutenant, calling Varric open to break into the chest.

Sure enough, everything that he held dear was there. Letters from his mother and Hawke, a toy soldier his father gave him, a letter from the Templar named ‘Carver’, and of course the dragon’s tooth he had taken from where they cleaned out the Bonepit. “Everything is here.” He breathes out in relief, pausing for a brief moment as he picks up the tooth. He kept it as a trophy from the fight, a reminder of the giant beast he helped fell and he always kept good care of it. Now there is the start of a crack in the middle of the tooth along the curve and he wonders how drunk he had to be to mishandle something so precious. 

Shaking his head he gently places the tooth back and closes it, picking up the chest in his arms and walking back over to the group. “I think it’s safe to say you’re telling the truth now Bull.” The Herald smiles before his expression turns solemn, looking back to the crew laughing and clapping each other's backs over drinks. The Chargers seemed like good people, regardless of whether or not this was some sort of hoax, and that made Carver feel all the worse for forgetting about them. He then takes a breath, looking up to Bull with a smirk. “Well then. Grab your gear and tell your men to pack up. I’ve still got some lost men to find and I’ve a new bodyguard to break in.” 

Bull laughs, shaking his head before he calls out to the Tevinter as he walks back over to his men, Carver stepping up to Cassandra and placing the box in her hands. “I know Leliana is probably already looking into them but see what she can find out about Bull specifically.” He looks over his shoulder at the Qunari, frowning before he shakes his head, looking away. “I want him to be telling the truth but we can’t be too careful. Also, please have that delivered to my room.” “Of course, Herald.” Cassandra bows her head slightly as the Qunari returns to their side, the Charger’s parting with her leaving Bull to fill her spot in Carver’s squad.

“So, where to boss?” The Qunari mused with a smile on his face, Sera eyeing the stranger carefully as they were on their way. The mess with these ‘Blades of Hessarian’ was rough, attacking them on sight when they reached their camp, taking bloody revenge in the name of those who had been killed in the name of their cult. There might have been another way to sort things out with them but Maker knows if he had the time to mess with any of that shit, not when he could feel the pull of a Rift nearby. He would have lead them straight there, and technically he was, if not for the, ah, obstacles in their path.

“Oh, that is badass!” Bull yelled over the fighting between a dragon and troll, Carver’s mouth falling open as the two giants clashed. “We’re gonna watch yeah?” Sera piped up, looking to the Herald with a wide grin on her face, Vivienne rolling her eyes at the predicament. “Well, we can’t just go through them. Let the dragon finish the creature off and be on its’ way.” She stated with a wave of her hand, Carver looking about with a hum as he sat down on a rock. Sera let out a whoop of delight as Bull leaned against his ax, eyes entranced by the show before them. 

“This doesn’t look like dragon territory.” Carver mused as the mage budged in with her own knowledge. “From what I understand from books, no. It likely has a clutch elsewhere and is hunting for food. We’d be wise to take note of where it flies off to once it has what it wants.” Bull growls something low that vibrates in his chest, the resulting shiver that runs down his spine confusing Carver. “Or we could take them both on, right now.” The Qunari’s nostrils flared as his fingers itched around the heft of his ax, the other three members of their group looking to him as if he’d lost all sense.

“Sorry. Qunari thing.” He mumbles, looking down at the ground while clearing his throat. “We get weird around dragons.” Bull quickly explains, Carver smiling as he crosses his arms, leaning back with a soft smile on his face. “So all we need to stop a Qunari invasion is a couple of dragons? Good to know.” The Herald jokes, turning his attention to the fight in front of them, lightning crackling against the stone and water, letting out a cheer when the dragon tore off a tusk. So entranced was the human he did not notice Bull staring down at him, eye narrowed as a sad expression took his face.

Carver did not remember anything that happened in the last year while he was with the Chargers. Perhaps it was better that way.


	4. The mages of Redcliffe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver and his party make their way to Redcliffe in hopes of forging an alliance with the rebel mages that are holed up there. What they get is time magic, manipulation, secrets and a very pretty mage with too much snark for his own good. Maybe they'll walk out of this place with an alliance of sorts after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long to add a chapter! Life is crazy but here it is! Expect more chapters coming out sooner than this one!

“Tevinter?!” Carver shouted out in shock, staring at the scout before them who bowed his head in turn once more. They had only just arrived at Redcliffe and the Herald could admit he was looking forward to a somewhat warm welcome. Grand Enchanter Fiona had seemed eager to work out an agreement between the rebel mages and the Inquisition. There had been no mention of a third party being present OR the giant rift that was at the city’s gate. 

“Yes, your worship. They claim to have been receiving aid from a Magister for some time now.” The scout stated, watching as Carver ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes before nodding over his shoulder.

“Wait for us by the gate. Send word to the Inquisition that something has gone wrong.” The Herald commanded, watching him run off before letting out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “As seems to be the norm these days.” He grumbled under his breath, looking out towards the city where they were supposed to meet the mages.

“Piss on it all and throw bees in it. Let’s go!” Sera urged, Vivienne holding onto her staff a bit tighter as she looked at the scene before her.

“The rebel mages have truly lost all of their senses if they believe that siding with Tevinter Magisters will give them the freedom they desire.” She looks to Carver then, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Fiona and I never agreed on a great many things but I know her enough that if she had made such an arrangement before the Conclave she would have never approached the Inquisition. We should investigate.”

“Have you lost your bleeding mind?!” Sera growled out, glaring up at the Court Enchanter who merely rolled her eyes in response. “Actually, all of the mages have lost their minds Blood magic, culty shit, piss rats!” 

“Sera.” Carver spat out, catching the elf off guard, the human warrior looking tense as he turned to his party. “I don’t like this any more than you do but something isn’t right here. I at least want to hear what Fiona has to say about all this and we should figure out what exactly these Magisters want.” His attention turns up towards the mountains, to Haven where their newly born movement was growing. “If there is a threat at our doorstep we can not ignore it.” He takes a deep breath, adjusting the blade at his side. “If it stinks of a set up we’ll leave and kill anyone who tries to stop us. Gotten good at that lately.”

With that they head down into the village where many mages could be found, soldiers bearing strange marks on their armor and worried people whispering amongst themselves. Apparently the new order wasn’t keen on keeping non-magical folk under their protection and were kicking them out if they refused to leave. The rebel mages were also being closely monitored, escorted by any number of Tevinter loyalists day in and day out. The fact that several mages approached him and begged him to do something about it spoke volumes of the situation. Something was deathly wrong.

Stepping into Redcliffe’s tavern they found it filled to the brim with all sorts. He even noted a Tranquil standing by himself though even he seemed uncomfortable with the situation. Iron Bull stood firmly by Carver’s side, hovering over him like a brick wall, single eye watching to see how everyone was reacting to their presence. The mages were keeping their distance for the most part, the majority of them appear to be on edge but some looked ready for a fight. 

“Herald of Andraste.” Carver’s attention turns to Fiona, looking the same as the day he had met her in Orlais except for the aura of confusion wrapped around her. “We were not expecting you. What brings you to Redcliffe?”

“You’re joking right?” Carver asked with a raised brow, Sera mumbling something under his breath as he goes on. “You invited us to Redcliffe back in Orlais. In-person.” As he says this and the mages around him react the Herald’s mind is turning with possibilities. He’s been in plenty of traps before but while this feels like one Fiona doesn’t look like someone ready to spring a trap. If anything, she looks like the rabbit about to be eaten.

“You must be mistaken.” The Grand Enchanter calmly states after a moment, walking down to meet him. “No mage has left Redcliffe since we became indentured to Tevinter. Except for the apostates.” 

Now THAT sent warning bells ringing through the warrior’s mind but he had to remain calm. The last place he wanted to start a fight was in the middle of a mage stronghold without a single Templar in sight. “Well someone returned the Inquisitions message a day ago. If it wasn’t you, then who?” Carver was afraid of the answer but he had to know. If they wanted to find out what had happened here in Redcliffe he had to know who was their leader now.

“That would be me.” All eyes turn to the Magister as he speaks, walking down the stairs from the second floor of the inn, the rebel mages giving him a wide berth as he approaches the Inquisitor. “Magister Gereon Alexius,” he bows his head briefly to Carver, “and you...you are the survivor, yes? Who walked through the Fade and lived.” His eyes travel down to Carver’s hand, the Inquisitor shifting away just slightly while narrowing his eyes. 

“That’s what they keep telling me.” Alexius tilts his head ever so slightly at this before he raises his hand towards the empty table, walking towards it. Carver hates that he has to follow, has to sit down with a Magister of all things and act civil while his right hand is instinctively curling into a fist, ready to punch. “So...interesting how the rebel mages suddenly found themselves indentured to a Tevinter Magister when just a couple of days ago there wasn’t a single strand of Tevinter hair in the wind.”

Alexius merely chuckles at this, leaning back casually as if he knows he’s holding the winning hand in this poker match. He does. Alexius knows the Inquisition needs the mages to seal the Breach and the Tevinter man has those mages under his thumb and that makes Carver sick to his stomach. “I would be an ill protector if I could not keep spies from looking into the home of those indentured to me. You didn’t come here to throw accusations though. At least I hope not.” 

He turns his attention to a younger man dressed in a robe similar to his but yellow, his smile briefly going soft. “Forgive me for not introducing you to my son earlier. Felix, could you fetch a scribe? Perhaps some drinks for our guests.” Carver looks intently at the man’s son as he bows, eyes narrowing as he takes in his features. Something is off. Not in the way something is off with Alexius, Felix looks civil in comparison. No, it’s something else. Something he can’t place...his eyes, maybe?

“Sealing the Breach will be no small feat. There’s no telling how many mages you would need for such a task.” Alexius’ words snap the Herald out of his thoughts, Carver forcing a small smile onto his face as he leans back. 

“When you’re dealing with a tear in the sky you can’t afford to think small. Though I never said we needed mages.”

“Why else would you come here?” Alexius asked with one eyebrow raised, chuckling. “Surely you did not think to come here to talk peace between the Templars and the Mages. It is far too late for that.” The Magister’s eyes narrow, focusing on Carver with an intent that sends a shiver down his spine. “I can not allow those indentured into my service to leave my care. There will have to be,” a clatter interrupts the start of any demands the Magister was about to makes, Carver standing up instinctively with a hand on his sword.

Felix appears to be shaking as he stumbles forward, having dropped the tray of drinks he’d been carrying, clinging onto the warrior as he all but collapses. 

“Felix!” Alexius is up so quickly his chair is knocked over, gathering his son into his arms. “It’s nothing father. Just...dizzy.” The concern on the man’s face is so genuine that a knife is sent straight through Carver’s gut. How many times had his mother worried over him so only to be pushed away by a son who wanted nothing of it? How much time had he lost because of his stubborn pride?

“We will continue this later. Come Felix, let’s go to the castle. I’ll prepare your powders. Fiona!” He calls to the Grand Enchanter and she is on his heels, already showing obedience to her new master. Carver is still processing all this when Bull chuckles, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“Kid’s a good actor. Knows how to throw his father off.” The look the Herald shoots his bodyguard must have been a confused one because the Qunari enters his personal space, reaching for his pouch to pull out a note that was not there before. “Come to the Chantry. You are in danger.” Bull whispers, Sera letting out a scoff while throwing her hands in the air.  
“At least half of that makes sense. Let’s get out of here.” She urges, getting curious looks from the group which is only met by a mildly shocked look of her own. “You’re joking right? This is clearly a trap. Magisters everywhere, going to a place where nobody will be,” Carver, having finally found his voice again, interrupts.

“We can’t leave here without answers.” He states bluntly, taking the paper from his old friend to read it himself, pocketing it once that is done. “If they attack us we’ll know their intentions. If not...well, we won’t know unless we go.”

“Agreed.” Vivienne muses, looking about while keeping a hand on her staff. “Fiona has always been foolish but this is a new low for her. This is why we need Circles.” She whispers under our breath, Carver half glaring at the woman in response.

“Half of the people here may want us dead Vivienne, please don’t give the other half a reason as well.” He growls out, shifting the shield on his back before leading the way out of the inn and towards the Chantry, feeling the all too familiar tingle of the mark on his hand flaring slightly as they neared an unseen Rift. “Shit.” He groans out, pressing his head to the wood of the door briefly before looking over his shoulder. “Weapons out as soon as you get past the door.” A nod was all the man got in response before he pushed the door open, the rest of his party almost pushing past him as they went.

He was expecting to see the demons already coming out of the Rift but what he didn’t not expect was to find a lone man already fighting him. Wearing Tevinter robes yet also guarded by leather, wearing walking boots and way too many straps to be for function. A blast of lightning here, a slave of his staves blade to the next demon and Carver could already tell this man was a mage on par with his brother. “Good, you showed up.” He catches a brief glimpse of the man’s face as he looks over his shoulder, silver eyes catching Carver’s own. “Help me close this would you?”

There’s a hint of a challenge in the mage’s voice that sends a tingle of a different kind down Carver’s spine, smirking as he pulls out his blade and charges forward, Bull close behind. The Qunari is comfortable around mages but not enough to be near them during combat but Carver? Carver fought alongside Hawke for years so even if this man was using a Tevinter style of casting he could still recognize the tells. So he stood close to the mage, letting him work his magic while Carver pushed back any demon foolish enough to come close and when all was done he sealed the Rift with as little trouble as the last.

“Remarkable.” Their new friend breathes out, leaning on his staff for a moment while staring at Carver. “How does that work exactly?” He tilts his head while giving the warrior a once over before a bark of a laugh leaves his lips. Now that the Herald can get a good look at the mage he can tell he’s high born. You didn’t look that put together while fighting unless you had put in more than the necessary effort to do so and he hadn’t met a low born who would go that far. “You don’t know, do you? You just wiggle your fingers,” the mage mimics his own words with one hand, “and poof! Rift closes!”

Carver huffs out, sheathing his sword but not removing his hand from it, narrowing his eyes at him. “Careful Boss,” Bull warns, eyeing the mage with suspicion. “The pretty ones are always dangerous.”

“A bit paranoid aren’t you?” Their new friend remarks, shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose that is understandable given the circumstances. Allow me to formally introduce myself.” The man straightens up his back with practiced ease, bowing his head slightly as to regard the group as equals. “Dorian Pavus of House Pavus. Most recently of Minrathus.” Sera lets out a scoff of disgust at the man’s words but Carver doesn’t acknowledge her, not yet anyway. “Magister Alexius was my mentor once upon a time. Useful information as I assume you will soon be at odds with him.”

Well, at least the mage gets right down to the point. Carver can respect that but he needs more information first. “I thought we would be meeting Felix here.”

“I am sure he’d rather be here than under his father’s thumb.” There is a sadness that briefly crosses Dorian’s face as he mentions his friend, something that the warrior takes note of right before it disappears. “He is Alexius’ only child and has fallen to illness as of late. My mentor has always been something of a mother hen to him.” And then it clicks into place. The blackness around Felix’s eyes, the loss of light held in them, the crack in his speech. He had seen these signs before.

“Your friend has the Blight.” Carver mused out loud, watching as the mage visibly flinches at those words, the Herald clearing his throat afterward. “My apologies. I’ve...seen it before. Too much, actually.”

“Yes,” the somber looks return’s to the mage’s face but he pushes on past it, “but I am not asking you to heal him with your divine blessing.” Silver eyes stare into Carver’s blue ones with determination. “What I am asking is that you help me stop Alexius before it’s too late.” He points his staff towards the ashes left behind by the Rift and demons that emerged from it, going on. “You’ve noticed it, yes? How these Rifts seem to be able to shift time around them. That is not a coincidence. It’s time magic; dangerous, unpredictable and threatening to tear apart what little normalcy is left in this world.”

“Time magic?” Vivienne lets out a huff, shaking her head in amusement while smirking. “There is no such thing darling. No one has even gotten close to mastering the art of manipulating time.”

“So you’re saying that some idiot mage couldn’t use the power of the Rifts, direct links into the Fade, to get at least some control over time?” Carver interjected, glaring over his shoulder at the Court Enchanter. “I appreciate your expertise Lady Vivienne but I’ve seen enough in my life to know that desperate men are all too willing to throw logic and reason out the window and into the shitter.” 

Dorian laughs under his breath, smiling at Carver as he looks him up and down. “So the books do tell some truth.” This got him a half glare from the warrior, Dorian raising his hands in defense. “The story is that you were raised in a house of mages. One can only assume you would pick some manner of understanding of magic from your siblings.”

“I’ve seen demons raining from the sky, a talking Darkspawn out for my family’s blood specifically and a Witch who can turn herself into a dragon at will.” The warrior crosses his arms, focused on the man before him. “I’m not questioning you on magic. I’m questioning why a Magister would betray his mentor when this is the cultist shit Vints eat for breakfast.” He pauses, looking over his shoulder to look at Bull. “Vint mages, anyway.”

Dorian lets out an annoyed sigh, rolling his eyes as he places his staff back on his back. “All right, let’s make one thing clear. I am an Altus, not a Magister, though I understand you Southerners use the term fluidly but a Magister is one who holds a seat in the Magisterium, not necessarily a mage.”

“But all Magisters are mages.” Sera puffs out, another sigh leaving the Vint’s lips.

“Yes, that much is true but there only so many seats in the Magisterium. I would have inherited my father’s seat, once upon a time. That time has long since passed.” He pauses, looking past the group and smiling. “Felix! There you are!”

“Apologies for being late.” The man stated as he walked over to join the group, standing at Dorian’s side. “I shouldn’t have played the sick card. Almost couldn’t get out from under my father’s thumb.”

“We should make this short then before your father misses you.” Carver mused, Bull letting out an approving grunt before looking the two men before him over as he took a step closer to his charge. Just in case. “Alexius. What does he want the rebel mages for? What is he planning?”

“He doesn’t want the mages,” Felix stated worryingly, looking directly at the Herald. “Just you. Taking the mages in Redcliffe was the clearest way to get your attention.” He bites his lip, running a hand over his hair before shaking his head. “He’s joined a cult of Tevinter Supremacist calling themselves ‘The Venatori’. What he is doing here now is all for them, all to get to you.”

“Great. So we’re in a den of Tevinter culty shits.” Sera grumbles out, turning her head and spitting on the ground. “Can we go now?”

“Seems like the smart choice. The Inquisition can’t afford to ignore these ‘Venatori’ however. I certainly can’t.” Carver grumbles out while rubbing the back of his neck as if he could feel the hot sting of a blade there already but he shakes the feeling off. “We’ll have to address this matter once we’re safely back in Haven. If Alexius is planning a trap for us the least we can do is be prepared for it.”

“Indeed. By learning my mentor’s motives and goals you’ve successfully taken the first step in turning his trap to your favor and if you are going through with this then you will need my help.” Dorian proudly states, receiving a raised brow from the Herald who once more takes in his form, stepping closer to the man.

“Why?” He questions, eyes narrowing to focus on the Vint’s reaction. “Why stop your fellow countrymen, why go against someone you’re close to you? What do you stand to gain?” His words give the Tevinter born man pause, eyes widening slightly before Dorian let’s out a sigh, relenting under Carver’s gaze.

“Truth be told this is partially my fault. I helped him create this time magic or the theory behind it anyway. This is as much my mess as Alexius’. Furthermore,” silver eyes glare to meet the Herald’s challenging gaze, “the sky already has a hole in it. I’d rather not have the entire world ripping itself apart with time and space.” He takes a step back, adjusting his staff briefly before he goes on. “I love Alexius like family and I love my country. But this?” He points a finger to where the Rift once was. 

“Time Magic? The slaughter of innocent people? The fact that he has allied himself with known blood mages!” He hisses the word out like it meant something more to him, information that Carver filed away for later. A shared disgust of blood magic was always a good thing to have. “It’s wrong! If my people are responsible for this any of it then it is our duty to fix it. Since most of the good people of Tevinter are too tangled in the affairs of the Magisterium to do anything it’s up to me to set things right.”

Carver remains silent, taking in the determined man’s form, crossing his arms as he thinks over all that he has learned about the strangers before him. Going against one’s family is never an easy thing but to go against one’s country...he could understand why they were being careful about this. Felix would be holed up in a cell if his father found out and Dorian? With the worst-case scenario not necessarily being death, he could understand why he was being secretive about his work here.

“All right Dorian.” He finally says after a minute of silent thought, uncrossing his arms. “I believe you. If you and Felix are serious about stopping your father and freeing the mages here then I’m willing to trust you.” He extends a hand to Dorian who takes it with a firm shake, only to be pulled closer by the Herald. ‘He pressed their foreheads together, staring into his eyes hotly before saying, “If you make me regret this I will take off your head.”

“Yes. Quiet.” Dorian mumbles out, wrenching his hand free and shaking it out before turning his back on the group and walking away. “And I shall freeze your feet while running into the distance if you attempt to kill me after my perceived usefulness is done. Though it’s understandable; killing a face this pretty is impossible unless you're stabbing me in the back.” He turns around briefly, smirking at Carver and bowing his head. “I’ll head off to Haven after collecting my things. I can’t be seen leaving with you...try not to get killed. That includes you, Felix.”

“There are worse things than death, Dorian.” Felix mumbles before he turns to leave the Church through the door, laying his hand on the door before pausing a moment. He looks over his shoulder as if to check who was still there before he speaks out loud. “Take care of him, will you? He’s a bit full of himself but he has a good heart. Softer than what’s good for him, maybe.” 

Carver watches Felix leave, Vivienne letting out the first sound since they entered the church, eyeing the door carefully. “A curious pair those two. We’d be better off settling this ourselves.” She advised, to which the Herald rolls his eyes before leading the way out of the Church. 

“Considering true books on Tevinter Magic have been banned from Fereldin AND Orlais since the first age I don’t think we have a better option. If they betray us we kill them; if not then we might just have a powerful ally.” Carver hums out, pushing open the doors with a huff. “Now smile everyone; can’t have these Venatori knowing we’re onto them. Let’s get out of here.”


	5. Less of a whisper, more of a shout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the threat of Tevinter mages at the inquisition's back Carver turns his attention towards reclaiming Redcliffe and releasing the rebel mages from their endangered servitude to Magister Alexius. If that means walking into a trap he knows is coming he'll do just that but maybe the trap isn't as straightforward as he thought it was going to be.

“Absolutely not!” Cullen barks out, slamming his hands against the table as Carver stares him down, arms crossed, completely unfazed by the man’s sudden outburst. The Herald had all but demanded a meeting of the Inquisitions council the moment he returned to discuss the situation in Redcliffe and while the reaction he received wasn’t a resounding success it wasn’t unexpected either. ‘Redcliffe has been taken over by a Tevinter Cult and I plan to free it’. No, that was never going to go well with the three before him.

“I can not allow our only means to close the Rift to just walk right into a viper’s nest! If you die everything that we have built here, everything those people are hoping for means nothing!” The Templar growled out and while there was wisdom in the man’s words it was clear from the younger man’s expression that he wholeheartedly disagreed with his point of view.   
“If we allow Alexius to remain the mages will surely become a threat in time.” Leliana calmly stated while approaching the table, hands behind her back. “The mages will be lost to us and a hostile foriegn power will be at our doorstep.” She stated firmly, looking to Josephine as she stepped forward to have her say in the matter.

“Even if we did have the means to take on Alexius, Redcliffe is too heavily fortified and an Orlesian army marching on a Fereldin stronghold will not be overlooked. It will spark a war!” Ever the rational one Josephine and at least her words Carver can agree with. 

“Not to mention send the wrong message.” The Herald chimed in, raising his hands with a scowl on his face. “Oh yes we want your help mages but first we’ll burn your safe haven to the ground and kill any of you who support the evil Tevinter Magisters!” Carver lowered his hands with a deadpan look on his face, narrowing his eyes at the diplomat. “Even I can see how sending an army to take the keep is a bad idea, no offence to you Lady Josephine. We don’t need an army though,” he looks to Cullen with a slight smirk, “we just need to cut off the head.”

“By waltzing up to Alexius and challenging him to a fight? You do realize this is all a trap?” The former Templar argued, glaring at the man as he rolled his eyes in response.

“I’m not dumb Cullen and even if I was I think even a nug could see this is a trap. Alexius knows if we need the mages’ help, he knows we’re desperate and he knows I will come. That is what I’m counting on.” All eyes are on him as he trails off, as if waiting for the master plan that Carver has come up with and, well, it might not be a master plan but he does have something of a plan. “When my family was still living in Low Town I found a key that my uncle Gamlen kept of our old estate.”

“This isn’t the time to go on about your life story.” Cassandra huffs out before thinking over his words, eyes widening as she recalls exactly what part of the story this was. “Wait...the key wasn’t for the front door. It was for the secret escape route that led into Darktown!”

“Any door can be used as both an exit and an entrance, no matter what purpose the door was built for.” The spymaster muses with a coy smile, stepping to the map and pointing to Redcliffe with her finger. “I recall that the castle has such an escape route, built to allow the Arl escape should the need arise. We could sneak our agents in through there, catch Alexius by surprise before he has a chance to spring his trap. As long as he is distracted of course,” her eyes fall back to the young Hawke, smiling in a pleased manner, “perhaps by the very target of his trap.”

Cullen’s face turns thoughtful, scratching his chin as he stares off for a brief moment, the frown returning as he shakes his head. “Alexius is no ordinary mage. He is a highborn Magister of Tevinter; surely he would know of such passages already and have them protected.”

“Fortunately, you’ll have help.” The voice is only half muffled as the door swings, hitting the stone wall with a dull thud as Dorian walks in confidently to the once private meeting, Carver raising a brow at the mage’s sudden appearance but unable to hold the smile that comes to his face. 

“This man claims to have information on the Magister and his methods.” The guard stammers out, likely because Dorian had stormed past him while telling him this information. 

Carver can only laugh gently at the thought, shaking his head before turning to the rest of the council. “This is the man I spoke of earlier, the one who warned me of Alexius’ true intentions. If we are going through with this plan I doubt we’ll be able to pull it off without his help.” He looks over to the man with a slightly skeptical expression, noting how Cullen’s hand has strayed to rest on the hilt of his blade. He doesn’t trust the mage; good. Carver isn’t sure they can trust him either.

“Precisely.” The Altus smiles at Carver, bowing his head briefly before looking back to the small group before him. “You won’t get past Alexius’ wards without my help, not without raising the alarm and I can’t stop him without the Inquisition’s help. You might not trust me but we’re on the same side I assure you. No one wants the Rift to swallow the world whole.” He pauses, reaching up to stroke his mustache for a moment, shrugging his shoulders. “Except for perhaps the Venatori but they’re raving mad cultists and Alexius is...well, just mad.” He ends this with a solemn expression on his face, looking off to the side to try and hide it.

Cassandra looks to Dorian, then the council and then finally Carver, a frown on her face. “Are you certain you want to go through with this Carver? It puts you at great risk.” 

The warning does nothing but cause the Herald to bark out a laugh, smirking as he uncrosses his arms. “I have been ‘at great risk’ since the last Blight! I haven’t been killed yet and I’m not planning on dying now, even if this plan goes to shite in a hand basket.” Baby blue eyes fall on the Altus as he speaks, catching the man’s gaze before he questions him. “Are you certain of this? If you’re lying you’re dead and if you’re not I can’t promise your mentor will be alive by the end of it.”

If there was not a hint of concern or sadness on Dorian’s face, no hesitation then Carver would have punched his lights out then and there. The mage falters however, taking a deep breath before replacing his nervousness with a look of conviction. “I’m sure there will be plenty of people wanting to kill me whether we succeed or fail as I’m sure the same can be said to you. As for Alexius, well, that’s why you’ll be there.” Taking a deep, calming breath Dorian goes on. “I want to say I am prepared to do what is necessary but he was like a father to me. I do not trust myself entirely not to falter should the moment come.”

“I appreciate your honesty Dorian.” Lelliana stated with a slight bow of her head, unfolding her hands from behind her back. “I shall select my most skilled agents for this mission. Herald, you should prepare as well.” Cullen clearly isn’t entirely on board with this plan but he relents, knowing that when a decision has been made by Carver that he will act on it regardless of who is at his side. He remembers that Garrett Hawke was very much the same and wonders briefly if it is a family trait or if the younger brother just learned it from the eldest.

Carver, for all intents and purposes, looks pleased with himself, the outcome of this meeting exactly what he wanted. Even if they didn’t get the mages on their side by the end of this the Templars surely wouldn’t be able to ignore them afterwards. Taking care of a Tevinter plot on Ferelden soil when it was a Templar’s job to fight against all forms of malicious magic? He knew that the symbols of peace were meant to be above it all but everyone had some level of pride. If he had gotten his original wish to become a Templar all those years ago he wouldn’t stand by and do nothing. If this worked out well the doors of Therinfal Redoubt would open up for them as well.

“You look pleased with yourself.” He stops at the huge wooden doors leading out of Haven, looking over his shoulder to see Pavus leaning against a wooden beam, arms crossed and a cool expression on his face.

“I could say the same to you, Altus.” The Herald states plainly before he turns his gaze back to the path ahead, walking out of the Chantry. He isn’t too surprised when he hears the mage’s boots crunching in the snow behind him, letting out a hum of thought. “I am sure our spymaster will be wanting to discuss plans for our infiltration into the Keep with you personally.” He stops, turning to gaze back at the mage, raising a brow and as his eyes fall to his exposed shoulder. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Freezing actually but it’s colder than my homeland no matter where I go in Ferelden.” He huffs out, picking up his boots and glaring down at the snow as if it has offended him, looking back to Carver. “How do you stand this much snow? In Tevinter we hardly ever saw such an amount unless it was winter in the mountains. It’s almost SPRING.” 

Carver chuckles out loud at the man’s complaint, walking over to punch him gently in his arm before down at him. He was only slightly taller than the mage though if he had the man pegged right he had a pair of heeled shoes to make up for the height difference. “If you think this is bad just wait till winter hits. Some years we get buried up to our asses in the stuff.”

“You’re joking, yes?” The well groomed man looks to Carver hopefully but his only answer is a knowing smirk. “Vishante Kaffas.” He hisses out, causing the warrior before him to break out into boisterous laughter as he steps closer to Dorian. The mage takes a step back, turning his bare shoulder away as to avoid another punch but only results in him punching the only slightly guarded shoulder. 

“You might not want to throw around Tevene so easily around here Dorian. I like to think everyone is smart enough to know we’re all on the same side here but just the other day the mages and Templars were at eachothers throats over questions we have no answers for.” He scoffs, looking over his shoulder and narrowing his eyes. “Bunch of idiots they are. I wouldn’t have stuck around but some of them still believe I started this mess.”

“They’re still here because they all believe you can stop it. As do I.” Blue eyes met silver ones as Carver’s mouth fell open in shock, Dorian’s smile turning soft as he reaches up to squeeze his shoulder. “I hope you believe it as well Carver. I don’t think your brother is going to help fix this mess.” And the moment is gone. He gives the Altus an exasperated look, removing his hand from his shoulder and dropping it to the side like a piece of lint he had found there. 

“Just get moving Altus. As much as I am going to enjoy taking your mentor down a peg I would rather not have this all blow up in my face.” Carver huffs out, turning and heading down the hill towards the training yard. He already had an idea of who he wanted to bring with him into this fight. Hawke always followed a ‘tried and tested’ template for who he was bringing with him, back in the day. One rogue, one mage, one warrior and one extra. Even when he met him in the burning city of Kirkwall Garrett was still using this formula. 

So he would do the same but he had to be careful of who he picked; Alexius was a man he couldn’t underestimate. His gut reaction was to take Cassandra with him; he hadn’t actually seen her use her ability to set the lyrium in a person’s veins on fire but if it was anything like what Fenris did to that one slaver in Darktown it could be useful. However this man was likely wary of Templars and Seeker’s were just ‘Super Templars’ so that was a no go. Sera was an absolute mess in Redcliffe when they had been marginally safer so he doubted she’d be good walking into a trap surrounded by mages who wanted them dead.

As for the mages of the Inquisition, well, Dorian wouldn’t be there from the start but he’d be there so there was no point in bringing one of them along. Three people would be seen as less of a threat anyway and he needed the Magister’s guard down, to make him feel like he had the upper hand. Convincing Varric to come along would be easy, always eager to protect Hawke’s little brother, but convincing Bull might be complicated. He could always ask Blackwall to join them but he felt the party needed someone with a little more ‘oomph’. 

“Bull!” He calls out with a smile, waving over at the hulking Qunari who was surrounded by his Charger’s. It felt strange to hear the boisterous cries of men he had once called his brothers his arms and yet not remember why. He wanted to embrace the warm welcome he received full, the arm jabs and joking tossle of his hair but with part of himself missing it was depressingly hard to do so. Carver doesn’t let it show though, gently shoving the mercenaries away before looking up at Bull.

The giant Qunari is smirking down at him, eyeing him in a pleased manner. “Saw the pretty mage come through the gates.” Bull mused looking towards the mentioned entrance before looking back to Carver. “The council came to a decision quicker than I thought they would. What’s the plan boss?”

Straight to the point. The Hawke could see why he had joined Bull’s mercenary company and stayed for so long. The mercenary captain was the type of man he wanted to be; self assured, assertive, disciplined, and yet still friendly to those beneath him. Anyone could approach the hulking mammoth and even if you were holding a knife he’d still be smiling, if only because he was about to kick some ass. “We’re going to walk into their little trap and spring it on Alexius.” The Herald boasts, crossing his arms with a proud expression on his face. “Dorian will be leading Leliana’s agents beneath the castle so we can get the drop on them. I’d like to take him in alive if possible.”

“So you need the big, scary Qunari to come in and intimidate the delicate Magister.” Bull huffed out, Carver nodding his head in agreement with his words. Bull was always composed but he could tell the thought of walking into a Tevinter Magister’s trap unsettled him.

“They want me alive so odds are they won’t try to sling bolts or summon demons that they may or may not be able to control. That being said I wouldn’t mind having some extra muscle around to make them hesitate.” Carver hoped it was enough to ease the brute’s nerves but he saw on change in his stance. 

Instead the hulking Qunari reaches out and playfully reaches out to ruffle the Herald’s hair, a smirk playing on his lips. “As if I’d let one of my boy’s run recklessly into an enemy trap without me by their side.” The smirk grew into a full fledged grin as Carver bats his hand away, a laugh escaping his throat. “I don’t care what fancy title you get Carver. Once one Charger, always a Charger.”

Something about that simple proclamation struck a chord with the human, blue eyes staring up at the Qunari with uncharacteristic fondness. A smile broke across his own face as a warm, familiar feeling of belonging spread throughout his chest. Everyone else here seemed to treat him differently, as the Herald, or the Brother of the Champion. Bull though...to him, he was just another one of his men. For a brief moment he allows himself to forget the man is a Qunari spy and likely has his reasons for wanting to keep him close and then the reality comes crashing back down onto him.

With a soft sigh he gently peels himself out of the mercenary captain’s hold, rolling his shoulders. “We leave in an hour. Make sure you’re ready by then.” He turns on his heel, moving to the center of the small town to collect his favorite dwarf. No doubt he would want to ensure the safety of his best friend’s baby brother.

\---

He doesn’t see Lelliana and her group even as they journey to Redcliffe and no doubt that is part of the plan. They would likely enter after he and his small party enter the Tevinter controlled city, when all eyes would be on him. If this plan worked depended entirely on if she could get her men through the escape tunnels and if he could distract the Magister long enough for her men to slip through.

All eyes are on them as they enter the castle, the doors closing behind them with a decisive ‘thud’, a guard stopping them before they could go forward. “Magister Alexius will see the Herald now. Your,” his eyes linger on Bull, “companions will remain here.”

“Then Magister Alexius can come here.” Carver stated, crossing his arms definitely as he stared up at the guard standing at the top of the short stairway. “The Inquisition informed him I would not be arriving alone. Being the only one who can close the Breach and all...I can just leave if it is such an inconvenience to him though.” He smirks as the guard frowns, pondering over the question before he takes a step to the side. “Smart choice.” Carver hums out as they move past the guards, watching for any signs of an ambush. No one made a move against them, however, so their theory that he would wait till they were in the inner sanctum of the castle must be true.

Sitting on the throne as comfortable as can be is Alexius, his son Felix at his side, the guard announcing their presence to the court. As if the man hadn’t known the moment he and his party had entered Redcliffe. “Herald of Andraste!” The mage called out, standing up from his throne and walking forward. “And your associates. Welcome.” He looks to his right, Carver following his gaze over to Grand Enchanter Fiona. So she was here as well...of course she was. He would likely kill her as well at some point, seeing as how she was the main force behind the rebel mages at this point. “Leave us, Fiona.”

The Grand enchanter frowns deeply, stepping towards the man she had endenchered herself and her fellow mages to. “You would have the mages say no word in what becomes of us?”

Carver smirks, noting the pride in her voice before he raises a hand to silence any protest that Alexius might say to the woman’s request. “If the Grand Enchanter wishes to stay then let her. There is no harm in her hearing what is said here.” He muses, watching as the Magister narrows his eyes, calculating his next move no doubt before waving a dismissive hand. The elven mage bows her head in thanks to Carver but his eyes never leave his opponent, even as he moves to sit back down on his throne.

“You have nothing to fear Fiona.” Alexius states cooly, leaning back while folding his hands over his lap. “I am sure the Inquisition and I can work towards an agreeable arrangement.”

“Don’t you mean the Inquisition and the Venatori?” Alexius tenses at Carver’s words, the Herald boldly taking a step forward as Fiona eyes him in confusion. “I mean no disrespect Alexius. I just want to know who exactly I am making a deal with. You,” he stops, his stare turning ice cold, “or the cult you so graciously serve.” He points a finger at the man in an accusatory fashion, smirking as Alexius' calm facade breaks for a brief moment. The magister stands, once more standing up to glare down at Carver.

“You are in no position to be making such false accusations, Herald.”

“No?” Carver muses, noting how the first of the guards has fallen but all eyes are on him. Good, he needed to keep it that way. “Then what about the time magic that appeared at the gates of Redcliffe? Shall we discuss that instead?” The younger Hawke jests, holding out his arms for a brief moment before he chuckles. “Ah but of course! You would rather talk about this,” he opens his palm to reveal the Mark to Alexius, “wouldn’t you?”

“You have no idea what that is.” The Tevinter Magister growled out, the claws of his gauntlets digging into his palms. “The power you possess or its true purpose. You do not have an inkling of knowledge about what you have stolen from its rightful owner!” The man hisses out and oh, Carver is going to backlog that information for later. This THING on his hand was apparently no accident and had never made it to whoever it was truly intended for. Good.

“Gather, listen to yourself!” Felix urges, grabbing his father’s attention as a second line of guards falls to Leliana and her assassins. “Do you have any idea what you sound like?”

“He SOUNDS like the villainous cliche everyone here in the south expects us to be.” Carver’s eyes turn to Dorian as he makes his grand entrance, emerging from the shadows, saff in hand as he stands between Carver and his former mentor. “He sounds nothing like the man who agreed that this magic was never to be tampered with.” Dorian growls out in betrayal, fingers twisting around the wooden heft of his staff.

“I gave you a chance to be a part of this Dorian.” Alexius huffs in return, Felix approaching his side with a worried frown on his face. 

“A part of what?” Carver asks, moving to stand by Dorian’s side as Bull begins to tense up, ready to reach for his blade at a moment's notice. “Your quickly crumbling plan?” The Herald teases, Alexius frowning deeply as he takes a step back, his son reaching out to gently take him by the shoulder. 

“Think about what you're doing father.” Felix pleads, concern written all over his face as he tries to reason with Alexius. “Give up the Venatori! Stop this foolish nonsense and lets go home.” He looks to Fiona and then back to his father as he continues. “Let the Southern Mages go, let them help the Inquisition, before it’s too late!”

The Magister looks to his son with a deep frown before shaking his head, confidence still bubbling from his form. “No. We are not done here yet.”

“Actually,” Carver hums out as the first of the Venatori bodies fall to the floor, the sound of several more thuds coming from behind him as the Inquisition assassins emerge from their hiding places, “I believe we just got finished.” He chuckles, shrugging his shoulders as he takes a step towards the Magister, feeling cocky now that he has the man right where he wants him. “Your trap failed before it was even sprung Alexius. Game over.”

Alexius takes a step back, panic spreading over his face before he grits his teeth, taking something from his pocket. “You are a mistake.” He proclaims, Carver halting in his steps as a green glow emanates from the mage’s hand, taking a step back as the start of a spell channels from the center of the light. “You should have never existed!” 

“No!” Dorian cries out, the warrior pulling out his shield as his ally whips a spell towards his master, hoping to disrupt the spell he is channeling. It fails even though the lightning connects with Alexius’ armor. Green light envelops the pair as Carver tries to defend Dorian from the coming attack, shield raised over his head as his free hand reaches for his blade. He scrunches his eyes shut as the green light grows brighter, wrapping them both in icy heat that vanishes as quickly as it arrives.

The first thing he notices when the light fades is how considerably darker it has become and a quick peek over his shield confirms the reason why. They are underground in the cells of the castle but...how did they get here?

“By the blood of the Elder One!” Carver turns with blade in hand at the new voice, facing the Venatori guard as he too unsheaths his blade. “Trespassers! Quickly, before,” he slices through the man’s throat before another word can escape, watching his corpse fall to the floor before help can arrive. He frowns deeply, taking a step away and looking around the water logged room in confusion, Dorian mirroring his actions. “Well...shit.”


	6. Through Hell, shit, and everything else

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pair finds themselves stuck in a nightmarish future started by their assumed deaths. Now they have to work together to figure out what is going on, what has happened, and pray they can make things right. This whole situation makes everyone act weird, even the unshakeable Iron Bull. Right? Yeah, that's the reason why.

Carver looks about the area to get a grasp of exactly what had happened, his frown deepening with every square inch he took in. They were no longer in the throne room, nor was there anyone else here besides the two of them and the now-dead guard. As to where they were it appeared to be a waterlogged cell, illuminated by Red Lyrium of all things.

“Dorian.” Carver growled out, looking to the mage for any sort of answer that he might have. “Where the hell are we?”

Dorian scratches his chin, pondering over their situation with a hum. “Displacement. Curious.” He walks past Carver, lost in his own thoughts as he looks down at the corpse of the guard they had just killed. “The Rift Alexius used must have transported us to the nearest magical construct.”

Carver scoffs, crossing his arms after sheathing his blade, moving as far away from the glowing red death rocks as he could. “Just because I grew up in a house of mages doesn’t mean I understand a word of what you’re saying.” He’s rewarded with a roll of the eyes, Dorian kneeling down to rifle through the man’s pockets, picking up a key.

“We’re still in the castle,” the Altus trails off for a moment before a flash of brilliance twinkles in his eyes, “of course! It’s not merely a matter of where, it’s when!” He looks far happier about this revelation than he should, Carver’s own face scrunching up in worry as the man goes on. “Alexius must have used that medallion as a focus to send us through time. Not what he intended I’m sure.”

Well if the Herald hadn’t believed time magic was possible he certainly believed in it now. “Judging by the massive veins of Red Lyrium growing out of the walls I’d wager he sent us forward, not back.” His frown deepens, looking back to the columns of red crystal in concern. “How long have we been gone?” Carver breathes out, Dorian putting his staff on his back.

“An excellent question. One I’m sure we’ll find the answers to once we get out of the cells.” He mused, walking to the cell door to unlock it, pushing it open before looking back at Carver. “Our priority should be returning to our own time.” The Altus turns on his heel and heads down the hall, past the cages devoid of life. “If we can find Alexius, I can use the medallion to take us back to the moment he cast the spell!....Probably.”

Carver groans out in frustration as the mage says this but at least it’s a lead. “Good. I’d rather not stick around here longer than we have to.” He mumbled, edging around the Red Lyrium with a deep frown. “Maker’s Breath, why is it growing out of the walls?!” Every crack and crevice is filled with a red aura, as if the earth itself had turned to pure lyrium. The thought made him sick to his stomach.

His head perks up briefly when he hears an old chant his mother used to sing, following the sound to one of the cells. Within it a mage he barely recognizes from Redcliffe, his eyes unfocused, hands folded in front of himself and red bleeding from his skin. “Hey!” Carver calls out, shaking the bars to try and grab the elf’s attention. “Do you know what happened here? To you?” His words fall on deaf ears only adding to Carver’s growing agitation, shaking the cell bars to create noise. “HEY!”

“Keep it down!” Dorian hisses out as he yanks the warrior away from the prisoner, glaring at the other as he pokes his chest. “Do you want to alert the entire castle?!” Carver winces at those words, the mage huffing as he stands up a bit straighter. “We have to keep our wits about us, less we end up like that poor man.” His eyes trail off to the afflicted mage, shivering at how wrong the very air about them felt. 

“Come. Perhaps there are other prisoners who still have some of their sanity left.” Dorian mused, the sound of sloshing water echoing through the spooky corridor. 

The Vint’s eyes wander to the lyrium protruding from the walls, concern etched in his features. This could not be Alexius’ doing, surely not. He was desperate to save Felix but he could not have known what would come after. If he had his mentor never would have gone through with this madness. 

“Fork in the road,” Carver whispered softly, the pair standing on the metal grate, looking about. “Left or right?” Dorian gives him a look as if to question his intelligence, the warrior rolling his eyes and heading towards the door to their right. 

Unfortunately, it did not seem to go in the right direction. Rather than leading up and out this path had them delving deeper into the dungeon, Carver wondering briefly if there had always been such a vast dungeon beneath the Arl’s home. 

He opens a door to what appears to be another dead end but his eyes immediately catch a glimpse of a shadow, projected by the red glow of the lyrium. “Hello?” Carver called out hesitantly, Dorian pulling out his staff in case it was a trap as they approached the final cell. What they saw froze Carver in his tracks, mouth falling open as his mind attempted to process what he was seeing.

Despite her condition, Grand Enchanter Fiona was still recognizable but just barely. There were no chains holding her in place, no magic runes to bind her magic. Just the Red Lyrium growing out of her still-living body. “Herald.” She breathed out, looking over her shoulder with some difficulty. “You’re alive!”

Carver’s mouth feels dry, his throat clamps up but he forces a question out. “What happened here? To you to...to everything!” His voice was barely above a whisper, still horrified by what he was seeing. In Kirkwall Merideth had used the Lyrium on herself and become infected by it but surely Fiona was smart enough not to do that!

“The Elder One.” Fiona rasps, grunting as she attempts to turn toward the pair. “Alexius' spell obliterated you. I saw you vanish before our eyes!” It was clear every word she spoke brought her pain yet she was still trying. That was more than most could do now.

“It didn’t kill us.” Dorian corrected, stepping in front of Carver, a thoughtful look on his face. “Though he did try. When I hit him with my counterspell it broke his concentration, sending us through time rather than removing us from it.” His voice hid his nervousness, appearing calm and collected as ever, the Altus going forward with his inquiry. “What is the date?”

“Harvestmere. 9:42...Dragon.” The news sends a stone plummeting to Carver’s stomach, cursing as he turns around, hands clenching into fists. A year. They had only been sent forward a year and this had happened? If the inside of the castle was this defiled, how bad was the rest of the world?! 

“Alexius is going to WISH he killed me!” Carver shouted, slamming his fist into an untainted wall, turning around and approaching the cell once more. “Fiona, tell me what you know!”

“A little kindness wouldn’t hurt, Carver.” Dorian chided, but the Grand Enchanter began to cough, turning her head away and bowing it.

“Alexius….he serves the Elder One.” She began, fear dripping from her body as she continued. “No one challenges him and lives. He is...more powerful...than that Maker….”

“Now.” Carver corrects, crossing his arms in a huff. “If we can manage to go back in time we can stop him BEFORE he gets this strong!” Surely if he was so powerful already he would have wiped them off the map by now, right? Right. So the Inquisition still stood a chance if they could only undo the nightmare they were experiencing now.

“You must try.” Fiona breathes out, turning her head towards Carver once more. “Your Spymaster...she is here.” Her voice comes out in ragged gasps, speaking taking every last ounce of strength. “Alexius brought her here...to be questioned. He is here.”

“Then we have no time to lose.” Dorian walked away from the cell in a hurry, eager to find a solution to this mess but Carver did not follow. The Altus turned to see the man staring into the cage, staring at the poor excuse for a mage as his heart ached. His hand reached for the cell bars, pulling a couple of times only to find it firmly in place. 

“...I’ll fix this.” Carver promised, letting go of the prison bars and walking away quickly, not wanting to be around when the woman found the strength to cry louder than she was now. He had wanted to end her suffering, a way of atonement for letting the world come to this but his sword was not long enough and the door would not budge. They would just have to ensure that this world never came to be.

With no guards to go through upon returning to the strange platform the duo were free to venture down the second branching path. “There’s got to be a switch or key or...something.” The younger Hawke mumbles pushing open a door, pausing as he spotted a figure leaning against the bars of a cell. A dwarf, stocky, well dressed, with an unmistakable bow leaning against the wall. 

“Varric!” He shouts, moving to go to the man’s side quickly, the dwarf quickly turning around and yanking Bianca from its resting place, pointing it at him. 

“Not this time, demon. I’m getting sick of you guys wearing Junior’s face.” The dwarf growls out, Carver halting for a brief moment, a shocked expression on his face as he processes the man’s strange behavior. Then he sighs, putting a hand to his forehead. Demons. Of course demons would be involved, why NOT at this point!

“Drop the crossbow, dwarf.” Varric lowers Bianca slightly at the annoyed tone Carver gives him. Each demon that had been sent to try to win him over and pry information had been sweet, friendly, the exact opposite of Carver. This brat...well he couldn’t be a hundred percent sure just that. 

“Sure.” The marksman says while lifting the crossbow up once more, aiming it at his head. “As soon as you tell me what Hawke’s real name is.”

The stare he gets from the boy could kill him, eyebrow twitching in growing agitation, a growl leaping from his throat. “What the fuck does he have to do with any of this Varric? The world is falling apart around us and you’re still obsessed with my brother?” Now he was certain. A weight that hadn’t left him since the day Carver was killed lifts off his shoulders and the writer puts his weapon away with a laugh.

“Andraste’s sacred knickers, it is you!” He laughs out, approaching the cell bars with a weak smile. Carver takes a few brisk steps over, digging through his pack to pull out a pair of lockpicks. Never knew when Varric’s trusted pair would break, despite his continued insistence that would never happen. Considering the man was out now he would hazard to say they were just waiting for the worst possible time to give out on the rogue.

“We were never dead,” Dorian explained, going on about how they had been misplaced in time by his mentor's spell, Varric nodding as he worked to show he was listening. With a click the door swung open, the dwarf stepping out of the cell and quickly moving as far away from the Red Lyrium he had been trapped with as he could. 

“So you’re going to take on Alexius to get this amulet of his?” Varric asks, not even waiting for a response before he heads for the door. “I’m in. We shouldn’t stick in one place too long though. Besides,” he rolls his shoulders, “I wasn’t the only one who was captured. Bull and Leliana are here too.” 

There’s a brief flit of relief that enters the human’s heart before he realizes what that means for Bull. He’s a Qunari made prisoner by Tevinter Cultist. Not the best combination. “Do you know where they’re holding them?” He inquires, following after Varric as he makes his way further down into the dungeon. 

“Bull is this way but they dragged Nightingale off not too long ago. For interrogation...among other things.” He grumbles out, working on a locked prison door with his lockpicks briefly before kicking the door open. “Tiny! You’ll never guess who came to the rescue!”

Bull turns sharply at the sound of the group’s approach, glaring at them as he stepped back from the cell door. “No. You’re dead. You’re both dead and no one would be stupid enough to come here willingly.” He growled out, Varric working at the lock to the man’s cell as Carver took a hesitant step towards him.

“I know it looked like I died but I didn’t. The spell Alexius used was SUPPOSED to kill us but he made a mistake.” Carver attempted to explain, unable to find all the right words when faces with that pained look in Bull’s eye. Like Varric and Fiona it was glowing red, the sickness of the Red Lyrium radiating off him in waves.

“That happens when you try to wield wildly unstable magic. You try to erase someone from history, end up teleporting them to the ass end of your house a year later instead.” The Altus chuckled out, the Qunari eyeing the two of them warily, looking down at Varric for some kind of sign. The dwarf looks to him, giving him a nod before stepping out of the behemoth’s way.

He tilts his head to step out of the cramped cell, growling under his breath as he grabs for his weapon that the guards had left there. Always in sight, always out of reach. It was meant to break Bull, piss him off. They weren’t concerned about him escaping. It didn’t matter. Nothing had mattered. The only thing that mattered now was standing right in front of him, staring up at him with baby blue eyes that always betrayed how soft Carver really was.

“So, we going to kill Alexius or what?” The mercenary huffs out, moving through the door quickly, Carver and company in tow. There was no time to waste; if they were to get any sort of revenge for the state the world was in, they had to move before the Elder One knew Carver was here. 

Carver moved quickly to walk by Bull’s side, looking up at him with a frown. “What happened after we disappeared?” He asked softly, the Qunari’s eyes trained forward, clearly focused on his goal. 

“The Inquisition Fell apart.” He stated after a few brief moments, stopping at the top of the stairs to look at Carver as he spoke, wearing a somber expression as he recounted the beginning of the end. “They tried to keep your death quiet for a bit but it didn’t last long. Most of the soldiers scattered before shit hit the fan.” 

“More like ‘flaming craters of demon shit’.” Varric interrupted, looking up at his formerly fallen comrade as he pitched in. “The Elder One had the Empress of Orlais assassinated. Before anyone could react a demon army marched on the Empire and then headed straight for Fereldin.” He grumbles out, Carver’s breath catching in his throat. 

“Shit.” That’s the only way he can describe the news that had been delivered, shaking off his shock before pushing past Bull up the stairs. Now it was clear why they were in such a hurry to get to Alexius. They needed to undo all of this as quickly as possible and then ensure the Elder One’s plans never came to fruition.

At the top of the stairs he finds that the guards have finally realized someone had escaped from the cells, the Herald steeling himself as he and his party draw their weapons. “Let’s cut through them quickly then.” He charges alongside Bull, the man letting out a blood-curdling shout as he slams his axe into the guards. 

Bull has always remained close to him as a front line bodyguard but the Qunari had never been afraid to let his Charger rush off if things looked like they were going well. The man was taking no such chances now. If Carver bolted to the right, Bull would follow, if an enemy charged at him he’d push the human out of the way. He had already lost Carver once, no, twice now, he wasn’t losing him again.

They traveled further into the castle, into the interrogation rooms, Carver opening the first door and immediately closing it, skin turning white as he covered his mouth. “Not Leliana then.” Varric mumbled, knowing that she wouldn’t break so easily, not before putting up one hell of a fight. It was then loud shouting was heard from further down the hall, Carver opening the door slowly, peeking through the crack.

The woman hanging from the ceiling was indeed Leliana but not the one Carver knew. This woman looked ages older despite only a year passing, dark circles hanging over her eyes, scars covering her face. He shuddered to think how she got them. He creeps the door open further, noting the lone interrogator who threatened her further if she didn’t talk.

“Enough!” Carver growled out, slamming the door open, determined to save the rogue before any more harm could be done. As it turned out the display was unnecessary. The moment the Venatori turned around to face him the spymaster wrapped her legs around his throat, pulling him toward her and holding him tight before snapping it with brutal force.

“...Remind me never to make you mad.” Carver mused as he rushed to the guard, rifling through his pockets for the keys. 

“You’re alive.” She breathes out as the Herald quickly undoes her chains, Dorian sighing as he prepares himself to repeat the same story that had been told four times now. “It doesn’t matter how.” She states bluntly, moving to reclaim her gear from a nearby chest. “If we are to do this we must do it quickly.” With that she marches out of the room, quickly followed by Carver and his party. 

At this point the Herald is exasperated. So much seems to have happened and yet he knows so little. He knows it must be bad but surely there were still fighting. Yes, this Elder One had God like power but surely he wasn’t that powerful. How bad could it possibly be?

Then they step out into the open sky for the first time and...well. Now he can see why. His eyes are wide as he stares up at the sky, mouth falling open as he stares up into the Breach. Stones and debris have replaced clouds and stars while the Breach has replaced the very sky itself. There is no sign of the sun, or moon if it would be out, there is only the pulsing green tear in the Viel that makes the mark on his hand burn.

“Maker have mercy on us all.” Dorian breathes out, the two paralyzed by the sight above them. 

“After your death the Breach began to spread once more. It was slow at first but soon it began to consume all around it.” Carver looks to the woman who is glancing up at the sky as well, if only for a brief moment. “Now do you see Herald? There is nothing left to speak of for there is nothing.” It was a terrible truth but the truth nonetheless, the information Carver had been grasping for until now.

“Alexius could not have known this would happen.” Dorian rationalized, licking his lips as he looked about. “There is no way he would have done this if he had an inkling that THIS would be the end result!” 

“Does it matter?” Lelliana objected, looking over her shoulder at the stunned pair, eyes narrowed. “The world is dead thanks to his actions. Whether he knew or not changes nothing.” She accused and no one could argue with that. If this is what would happen if they didn’t close the Breach then Alexius sacrificed the entire world for just one soul.

“It will mean something when we get back.” The Herald muses, ignoring the burn of his mark as he charges towards one of the Rifts in the courtyard. He thought Kirkwall would be the most horrific thing he’d see in his life but no. This? This was far worse.

It was clear the demons had no love for the Venatori guarding this place. When they reached the Grand Hall they were fighting, making it easy to split the group up and take them down. The giant rock slab of a door was new but not something that couldn’t be solved with a bit of good old fashioned looting. 

In what time between battles they had Carver wondered if this was why Hawke always tried to pick clean every room he entered. You never knew when the blade on your back would break or if you’d run out of potions. If the papers on that desk could be the proof you need to bring back to prove to others, and yourself, that you aren’t raving mad. 

Garrett. He hoped Garrett had made his way to safety. Maybe he was off somewhere planning a grand counterattack to avenge him and the rest of the world. That sounded like something he would do. The Champion would be left disappointed, however, when this world disappeared. Maker, he prayed it did.

“Let me see the shards.” Dorian breathed out once they were in front of the doors, working them into the mechanism with a hum. “This will take but a moment to figure out. Now might be a good time to prepare.” He called out from over his shoulder, Carver nodding as the group momentarily relaxed. 

Varric sat down, leaning against Bianca like an old friend while Leliana remained close to Dorian, hand on her dagger. Perhaps she was worried he would betray them at the last moment but that wasn’t likely. Even if Dorian had been on Tevinter’s side to start with there was no way he could want this to be their future. Now that the Altus hadn’t proven himself to be the exception to the Tevinter Stereotype. 

As for the Qunari mercenary, he remained close to his side, arms crossed as he looked up and out a hole in the ceiling. His eye was searching for any sign of an enemy attack, his hand flexing on the hilt of his great axe. Carver could see the nerves jumping across the tight muscles of his former leader and for some reason, it didn’t suit well with him.

He bumps his shoulder into Bull’s side, the man flinching, looking down at the human who smirked up at him. “What was it you said on the Storm Coast?” He mused, looking to the green sky. “The bigger the better? Can’t get much bigger than saving the world, right?” Carver mused, smiling wearily at his own joke.

Bull let his eye rove around the human’s form, drinking him in. He was alive, well and truly alive. It was still sinking in that he hadn’t lost Carver at Redcliffe, that he was here. That the rampage of destruction he and his Chargers had forged in his name meant nothing. No, that wasn’t true. At the time it meant everything to them, perhaps even more than the Qun. Maybe that’s why his leaders broke contact with him. 

He had a whole year to come to terms that his former swordhand was dead. To lament on past regrets and words unsaid. Now, at the end of it all, he didn’t want to go on with that same regret again. “Carver,” Bull breathed out, reaching for the man bathed in green light hesitantly, “listen, ‘bout that stuff you can’t remember.”

“And Voila!” The Altus’ jubilant cry broke the moment, Carver turning out of Bull’s reach as the doors began to push open. Bull’s eye focused on the Herald’s back, sighing as he shook his head, adjusting his weapon before following them into the throne room.

“ALEXIUS!” Carver roared out as he spotted the man standing near the throne, his back to him. 

The man remained stoic as he folded his hands behind his back, slowly turning to face the invaders. “I have been waiting for you, Herald.” His voice was that of a man who was done with it all but he stood with all the pride one expected of a man of his station. “I did not know when but I always knew you weren’t dead.”

Dorian steps forward, just a hair in front of Carver, staff at the ready. “What is this madness Alexius?” He breathed out, body shaking as his grip on the metal staff tightened. “Tell me you did not know THIS was the Elder One’s intent!” He begged, a tear escaping from his eye as his mentor turned to face him. 

“I knew.” Those words spoked the fire of anger inside Carver, the warrior drawing his blade and stepping forward, only to be pulled back by Bull. “I did not know the extent of the destruction that would come but I knew. The Elder One promised me Felix and I would have a place in this world as long as I succeeded in returning to him what the Herald stole.” His gaze grows hot as he glares down at the accused, who meets his eyes with determination. 

“I failed. The spell worked but I could only go as far back as the explosion of the Conclave and no further. Thus I needed a new strategy.” So THAT had been his plan! He wanted to make sure Carver had never reached the Elder One, possibly the Conclave. 

Not only that but it confirmed one other thing. “So you knew.” Carver growled out, shrugging off the Qunari’s hold. “You KNEW the Elder One was the man who destroyed the Conclave and you sided with him anyway?! All the lives he destroyed and for what?!” He points his sword to the Magister but before he can even speak Leliana makes her move.

She’s up there with him, yanking a slumped over man off the ground, turning him to face the Magister with her dagger to his throat. Dorian recognizes him immediately and even Carver feels his heart drop to his stomach at the sight. “Felix!” Alexius gasps out, stepping forward to reach for him but the spy presses the dagger to his throat, freezing the man’s movements as effectively as any spell.

For the first time Dorian feels not pity but rage well up in his chest. Felix was a brother to him. To see him so sickly, so lifeless, forced to keep going beyond what is right...it sickened him. “What have you done to him?!” Dorian demanded, turning his staff to his former mentor.

Alexius in turn gives his former apprentice a pleading, desperate look. The look of a broken man. “I had to save him.” He explained, his voice drenched in sorrow. “He’s all I have left.” He then turns his attention to his son’s kidnapper, taking another step towards them. “Please! Please I’ll give you whatever you want just let him go!”

Thank the Maker for small blessings! “The amulet!” Carver growls, pointing to the necklace dangling on his neck. “Give us that and leave!” 

Leliana is the one with their bargaining chip, however, and she has other ideas. “I want the world back.” She hisses out, sliding the blade across Felix’s throat, his body falling to the floor like a broken doll.

“NO!” Dorian and Alexius both shout at the same time, the Magister glaring at the woman, releasing a spell that sends her flying. He turns his attention to Carver and his crew, staff glowing as his eyes flare with newfound hatred. 

“Oh Maker’s soggy balls.” That’s all he managed to get out before the first spell goes flying, hitting Carver’s shield and sending him sliding back as the rest of the group charges forward. His head rings for a brief moment before the cool feeling of a barrier washes over him, looking over to see Dorian standing nearby. His face is somber but he has not lost his will to fight. 

A simple nod and Carver leaps into the fray, charging with a battlecry that echoes through the empty halls. The Magister doesn’t make his final moments come any quicker. He summons forth Rifts and demons, casting spells around himself to keep their attacks at bay but in the end it means little. 

Carver rushes him the moment the last of his barrier drops, sinking his blade into Alexius’ heart. He chokes on his blood, Alexius’ staring at him with wide eyes as Carver pushes him off, turning his head to avoid getting too much of the blood on his face. Panting he looks to the floor, watching as blood pools around the Magister before he turns to the traitorous spymaster. 

He marches forward, grabbing her by the cloak, slamming her into a crumbling pillar. “You didn’t have to do that!” Carver shouts, words strained with frustration. “He would have let us have it! He might have even told us how to use it if you had just controlled yourself!” The shield bearer doesn’t even realize that his fist is drawn back until its’ caught mid-swing, his head snapping over his shoulder to stare at Bull. 

The Qunari wears a firm expression on his face, shaking his head ‘no’. Carver, gritting his teeth in response, tears himself away from the woman, yanking his hand free as he walks back over to Alexius’ body, Dorian standing over it with the amulet in hand.

“Undamaged, thankfully.” He breathes out, turning the strange object over in his hand to examine it thoroughly. “We used something similar for our experiments in Tevinter. Give me and hour,” his words are cut off as the archer storms over, a deep frown on her face. Before she can even open her mouth though a roar rips through the air, so powerful that it shakes the very stone of the castle.

“We don’t have time!” She shouts, looking to the stone door and then the pair of time travelers. “The Elder One knows you are here. He won’t hesitate to tear this whole building down to kill you.” Carver’s eyes widen as he looks to the ceiling, then the doors, frowning as he sees the start of a Rift fluttering on the other side.

Varric and Bull see it too. The dwarf curses under his breath before looking to Bull, a somber smile on his face before he looks past his old friend to Carver. “Don’t worry! We’ll stall them Junior!” He shouts out, seeing the human tense up immediately at those words, pushing past the advisor to get to them but she grabs his arm. 

“What are you doing?!” Carver growls out, struggling in her surprisingly firm grasp. “Let go!” 

“Kadan.” The word falls easily from the Qunari’s lips, knowing the effect it had on Carver in the past, before he forgot. He must not have forgotten entirely for the human stops, looking at him with pleading eyes as the Qunari smiles at him. He lifts his axe over his shoulder, trying to look as impressive and intimidating as he once did a year ago when he was still the leader of a mercenary band and not the lone survivor. 

“Fix this.” That’s all Bull says before he turns around, walking to the stone door with Varric closely behind him. Carver doesn’t know why but that one strange word breaks his heart. More than any conversation he had with the Chief before but before he can ask why the stone doors close behind the pair, sealing their fate. 

He doesn’t notice when the woman lets go of his arm, stepping away from him, walking backward down the steps. “Cast your spell.” She urges Dorian, grabbing an arrow from her quiver as the first shrieks are heard from the other side. “You have as much time as I have arrows.”

The Herald feels numb as Dorian pulls him further away from the door, leaving him to stand before the throne as he casts the spell to undo this tragic fate. The sickly green light of magic illuminates their forms as the barricade slams forward once, twice before giving way.

Blue eyes catch Varric’s form laying face down on the ground, Bianca splintering as a demon steps carelessly onto it. There is another, larger demon and the sight of it holding Bull’s body up like nothing has bile building in his throat. 

“Don’t!” Dorian calls over his shoulder, still focused on the spell but keeping his eye on the desperate looking man. “You move and we all die!” Carver looks to him, then the final archer standing in harms way as he slowly backs up towards the mage. He watches as she takes down foe after foe, downing one for each arrow. There are not enough arrows.

The last vision of this nightmare he sees is Leliana reaching out to them, screaming as her neck is sliced open. That is all there is before the light in the room consumes them, all his sees before the light fades and they step back into the past. Present. Fuck. Well, at least they were right where they left off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I hope you all enjoyed the little hints I put in of Carver's forgotten past~ We'll see how that works out in later chapters.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I like writing it. Your comments and support drive me to keep creating so thank you!


	7. One step forward, ten steps back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver secures the aid of the Rebel mages at Kirkwall as well as the talents of a handsome Tevinter Altus. With the Breach sealed he takes a moment to enjoy the calm before the shit hits the storm. New Allies, old enemies, one constant headache.

Bull is two steps into rushing to his side, a look of panic on his face before he halts. They are covered in blood, panting from exertion but they are alive and by the looks of things, mostly unharmed. 

Carver looks about the room, taking in the confused looks of his comrades before his eyes fall on Varric and Bull. He lets out a breath of relief at the sight of his friends unharmed, dropping his blade as Dorian steps to his mentor. “A good try Alexius, but your plan failed. We’re still here.” 

It’s a good thing he dropped his sword when he did for the next thing Carver manages to do is spin around and slam his fist into Alexius’ face, sending him flying. “Carver!” Dorian shouts as Felix rushes to his father’s side.

Carver pants softly, running his fist across his face, dried blood smearing over his face. “He deserved that.” Is all he gets out, making his way down the steps as Lelianna rushes to his side, opening her mouth to speak to him only to be met by an open palm thrust in her face. “I’m unharmed. I’m alive. And I am done here.” He growls out, just as the doors to the Grand Hall slam open, someone announcing the arrival of King Allistair to the room.

Or not. With a tired groan he makes his way over to the King, going to bow before the King stops him with firm hands on his shoulders. “I don’t think the people would look kindly on me if I expected the Herald of Andraste to bow to me.” He laughs out, turning his attention to Fiona as she calls out to him. 

His expression quickly changes from kind to angry, standing up straighter as he turns to her. “Grand Enchanter Fiona!” His voice travels across the room, the mage flinching away as he goes on. “I allowed you and the mages a place of sanctuary. In return you kick my people out of their homes and invite Tevinter onto my doorstep!” He growls out, the woman flinching as he points a finger to the door. “You and your people are no longer have my protection. Leave.”

Her eyes widen and she goes to speak but Carver is the one who gets a word out first. “In that case, the rebel mages can join the Inquisition.” He looks to the stunned elf, smiling tiredly as he makes up his mind. No, he had made up his mind on the stance of mages long ago. When Templars raided their home searching for his twin, when he had to coddle Bethany to keep the nightmares away. Nightmares caused by a system that failed the people it swore to protect.

He realizes there’s more he needs to say when all eyes fall upon him, a red blush blending in with the dried blood as he stands up straighter. “I, the Herald of Andraste, would like to formally request and Alliance with the Rebel Mages of Ferelden.” He begins, stepping towards Fiona, squaring his shoulders. “We still need your help closing the Breach. I need your help.” He reaches out his hand towards her, doing his best to put on a smile despite how numb his body felt. “There will be a lot to do when that’s done and honestly? We need friends right now. Not prisoners.”

She stares at him, holding her staff close before making up her mind. She lets out a breath, shaking his hand once before bowing her head. “Then the rebel mages gladly accept your offer.” The relief is clear in her voice and body language and it mirrors that of the Herald.

He lets go of the Grand Enchanter’s hand, turning to Alistair as the King sizes him up briefly. “Well, it’s your call. I’ll be washing my hands of this lot personally.” He goes to turn away but halts, slowly turning back to gaze at Carver more closely. “I...do I know you?” 

Carver might have amnesia but he would have remembered if he met the King of Ferelden, husband to the Hero of Ferelden, his cousin. Maker’s breath, trouble really followed them around, didn’t it? 

The following silence must have been Varric’s que to step in, the dwarf smiling up at the human king. “Junior? Nah, but you met his brother Hawke back in Kirkwall. Right before it all went to shit.” He chuckles out, receiving a glare for the younger brother as a noise of acknowledgment leaves the King. 

“Ah yes! I remember your brother well!” The former Warden laughs out, shaking his head with a fond smile. “Wish I could have done more for Kirkwall but what’s done is done.” The King reaches out, firmly grasping Carver’s shoulder with a smile. “I’ll leave you be then. You look like you’ve been to the Fade and back!...Well, again.” The King corrects, once more turning to leave but again he stops. 

He turns back to Carver with an inquisitive look on his face, hesitating before scratching at his nose awkwardly. “So...is that a family thing?” The resulting frown has the man laughing nervously, waving a hand dismissively at the younger man. “Nevermind. It was a dumb question anyway.”

Carver raises a brow at the King’s retreating back, looking down at Varric for answers. “What was that about?” 

“Nothing Junior.” Though by the tonne of the dwarf's voice there was definitely something that he wasn’t telling him but honestly Carver was far too tired to care. Every muscle in his body ached, his head hurt and his heart was still mending. Seeing his friends sacrifice their lives for him shattered his soul, especially Bull and even seeing him alive now wasn’t much of a comfort. Not when he knew what was coming for them.

“Grand Enchanter!” Carver called out, turning to face the woman with a stern look. “Gather your best and brightest and send them ahead of the rest. Leliana, assign some of your agents to help them move as quickly as possible until the Inquisition’s men get here. Now,” he lets out a long-suffering breath, “let’s get the fuck out of here.” He turns back around, heading for the door with Bull and Varric by his side, pausing before looking over his shoulder. 

Dorian is standing by Felix’s side as the Inquisition soldiers lock shackles onto Alexius’ hands, pulling him to his feet. Doubtless the man would receive a swift execution order from the Ferelden King. Despite how much he deserved that though Dorian and his friend looked on with sadness, never moving to stop it from happening but clearly unhappy with the sad end to this tale. 

Well, can’t have that. 

“Dorian!” Carver calls out, the Altus turning his head towards the Herald who motions him and Felix towards him. The pair look to each other, then Alexius before reluctantly leaving his side to join the Herald and his party before he leaves. “So,” he begins, “the day is saved, Alexius’ plan thwarted and the two of you are from the burden of cleaning up his mess. What happens now?” 

“Now.” Dorian muses, reaching up to scratch his chin, letting out a sigh as he looks down at the state of his robes. “First a change of clothes, followed swiftly by a bath and a strong drink. I’ll be remaining here for a time.” He looks to the soldiers who are not looking all to kindly towards him and Felix. 

“The King’s courtesy never extended to us. It’s best we leave as quickly as possible.” Felix mused, turning his attention to Carver with a soft smile. “I plan on leaving for Minrathus, to take my father’s place in the Magisterium. I’ll speak for the Inquisition and encourage them to denounce the Venatori.” Hopefully. He has no doubts there are at least one or two other Venatori supporters in the Magisterium but he’ll make it clear that the Inquisition will stop them again, just as they stopped Alexius here.

Carver shifts his gaze back to Dorian as if to say ‘And you?’ The man smiles coyly, rolling his sore shoulder as he responds. “As much as I’d like to join Felix I will be remaining here. I’ve grown quite fond of the South; I adore it to pieces.” Though he tries his best to hide it pain slips through his words, knowing what that will mean. Felix, the closest thing he had to family now, will die and he won’t be there for him. It was a possibility they had discussed before, one that will likely come up again while Dorian drinks himself stupid, but they knew his time would come swiftly after the defeat of Alexius. 

The Herald nods in understanding, smiling just slightly at the Altus. “I’ll see you back at Haven then.” Dorian’s mouth falls open at the blatant remark, Felix chuckling as the warrior turns his attention to him. “Felix.” Carver extends a hand to the dying man, eyes filled with respect. “Safe travels.” They shake hands, Carver letting go after a moment and turning around, walking towards the exit.

Dorian snaps out of his daze, walking after him to shout out. “So sure of that are you?” The Herald doesn’t bother to shout back, just laughing as he waves at the mage from over his shoulder. He has no doubt that the mage will follow after them shortly after Felix leaves. He doesn’t appear to be the type of man who leaves things half done and the Inquisition could use a mage of his talents.

Carver certainly could. If he has to hear Vivienne insult Sera or Solas talk about the elves of old ONE MORE TIME he is going to go back to the Fade.

Bull watches the exchange curiously but for the life of him still can’t figure out what had happened. One moment Carver and the Vint were fine and the next they were covered in blood that thankfully wasn’t theirs’. And the look in Carver’s eyes…he’d seen it before. It was the first sign of one of his fellow Qunari about to break in Seheron and he had seen that same look in his own eyes once as well. It was the look of someone who had seen too much, survived what no one else should have and yet still kept going. 

It was an admirable trait. It was also incredibly stupid. 

Before they could climb back on their mounts, still waiting for them at the gates of Redcliffe, Bull grabbed him. “Oh no you don’t.” He pushes the human towards his own mount, a burly looking horse more suitable for plowing fields but few horses could comfortably carry his weight. “Get on.” He orders, crossing his arms, the very picture of an unmovable object.

Carver turns to him slowly with a deep frown, brow twitching in agitation before trying to move past him. “I’m fine Bull. I don’t need you clucking at me like a mother hen.” He urges, not wishing to have this conversation right now but his former commander isn’t budging. 

The Qunari pushes him back into place with more ease than the Hawke is willing to admit, giving him a stern look. “You’re shaking.” He points out and how the man could have missed that is beyond him. He watches as Carver observes himself before trying to move past Bull again only to be stopped once more. 

“It won’t look good if ‘The Herald of Andraste’ is seen being coddled like a small child learning to ride.” Carver argues.

“And it will cause a panic if the people see their hero, bloody and bruised, fall off his horse.” The shuts the human up, Bull pinning him with a steely look. “I know that blood isn’t your’s. They don’t.” Once more he nods towards the oversized steed, the Herald sighing before relenting to the man’s request, climbing onto the giant steed. 

Bull is right behind him, one arm around his middle, the other holding onto the reins. Seeing that everyone was ready the part began to move, Bull frowning as his fingers dug into crimson stained armor. “This isn’t your blood, right?” His hold tightens just a bit more as Carver shakes his head, tired laughter escaping the human’s lips.  
Instead of an answer, all Carver offered was the sound of him snoring. Despite all his protests the moment his brain processed that it no longer had to hold his body upright it shutdown, Carver slumping forward as he gave in to his physical and mental fatigue. “Koslun’s balls.” Bull mumbled, shaking his head as he held the human closer. He’d get answers back at Haven.

\-----

It takes a week and a half for preparations to be complete. Josephine had to order a surplus of lyrium, Leliana had to make sure the mages were comfortable and Cullen...well Cullen had to put up with it. Carver had made the decision he felt was best; if the future was as bad as it looked they needed allies, not prisoners.

Of course, there was a ripple effect, good and bad consequences making themselves known. Mages who had not been at Redcliffe now flocked to Haven as a refuge, welcomed by the Inquisition as long as they promised to help stop the Breach. Those who stood for the freedom of mages now pledged their full support to the Inquisition. 

On the opposite side of that coin, many people were denouncing them for their decision. Orlais liked him even LESS than before, claiming he was stirring the pot of an already boiling rebellion. People even claimed that trusting abominations was a family trait. After all, his cousin had made Anders a Warden while his brother had, unknowingly, helped the mage blow up Kirkwall’s Chantry. First time someone brought that up, Carver quickly ended the conversation. With his fist.

Perhaps his family’s past made it easier for Dorian to slip into the ranks of the Inquisition quietly. He even came bearing gifts; locations of Venatori camps all over Thedas that they could pursue at their leisure. Only after Carver promised he could see to the destruction of those they could reach, of course. The man was not one to be a ‘background character’ and insisted he would serve better by the Herald’s side than in the town preparing potions or some nonsense like that.

Carver was more than happy to oblige. Having Dorian around meant he no longer needed to listen to Solas’ lectures or Vivienne’s constant judgment while traveling. Granted the Altus did complain. A lot. Though as the saying goes, one must choose the lesser evil.

Then his moment finally arrived. With the best and brightest of Redcliffe’s mages behind him he stood before the first Rift once more, the Rift that started it all. He was looking forward to seeing it gone, if only out of spite. If not for the Breach he wouldn’t be in this damned mess!

His mark burned with effort as Carver strained against the magic keeping the Rift anchored to this world but this time he did not falter. He was used to the pain, defiantly stepping towards it as he pushed his body to call upon more of the strange magic bound to him. Soon after he could feel more magic pulsing around him, through him and towards the Breach. 

A couple of seconds after that, ‘pop’. Carver was flung onto his ass as the Rift closed with such force it shook the area around him. That pulse traveled upward, towards the sky and Carver watched with baited breath as the magic reached the tear above. Another pulse, this one rippling through the air, and the damnable Breach was closed. 

For a moment all were silent, staring at the sky in anticipation, wondering if the Veil would burst open despite their efforts. Perhaps they were waiting on him for some devine sign that they had succeeded. What they got was a soft chuckle, then a full blown laugh, Carver falling onto his back as cheers erupted behind him. _On disaster down. Two to go._ Carver thought, smiling as he closed his eyes. 

He didn’t get to rest long before the sound of clinking armor neared him, opening his eyes to stare up at the Seeker. She smiled down at him, reaching out to help him to his feet. The applause only seemed to get louder as Carver stood, turning around and meeting them with a broad smile on his face. They could worry about demon armies and assassinations another time. Right now they would celebrate.

The party was already getting started by the time they returned. Horns declared the triumphant return of the Herald, letting all know the sealing of the Breach was a complete success. Carver couldn’t help but bask in the glory, puffing out his chest as people called out to him, congratulating him on finishing what he started. All the praise reinvigorated his body, stepping into town with renewed energy as a drink was all but shoved into his hand by Bull.

Then the party really began. Music was playing, people were dancing, laughing, eating food that wasn’t just thrown together soup. A proper celebration to mark the first of many victories for the Inquisition. 

He leaned against some fencing with a smile on his face, taking a gulp of ale as Cassandra approached him from behind. “Solas tells me the sky may forever be scarred but the Breach is truly closed.” She muses, hands behind her back as she settles at his side. “A victory we sorely needed.” The Seeker laughs out, smiling at the scene before them.

“The first of many,” Carver promised, swirling his drink before taking a long swig of his ale, Cassandra turning his gaze to him.

“Then you will stay?” This gave Carver a reason to pause, turning his attention to the woman who then turned to fully face him. “I had assumed you might wish to leave once the Breach was sealed. You have done an awful lot of complaining since you got here.” 

The Herald laughs nervously at this, leaning further into the fence with a smile. “I have, haven’t I?” He mused, stepping away from the fence and towards the Seeker. “There’s still work to do after this.” He then frowns, looking to his hand and flexing the mark. “Rifts here and beyond that still need sealing. Then there’s that mess that I saw in the future.”   
He looks out to the party and smiles, taking another drink. “That’s for tomorrow. Right now we,” he’s interrupted by the sound of alarm bells, horns blowing in the distance. For a moment the warrior just stares in shock before growling, tossing his drink to the ground. “Maker’s soggy balls, what NOW?!” He wrenches his blade and shield from where they rest, marching to the gates as he puts them snuggly on his armor. 

Bull, Varric and Dorian are quick to join his side, Dorian sighing as he rolls his shoulders. “While I was hoping for something to distract me from the awful drinks. This is not what I had in mind.” Bull grunts out in agreement but says nothing, concentrating more on the conversation being held by the advisors. 

A massive force was marching towards Haven under no banner. Before he could open his mouth and ask if there were any demons in their number the front gates began to swell behind an unseen force. “I can’t help unless you open the door!” That was...an odd thing for anyone to say but they were going to have to open it anyway. 

Carver takes the lead as the massive doors open but his steps are halted as he watches a Templar fall to the blades of a strangely dressed young man. He’s a stringy young thing, face covered by an oversized farm hat, blades dripping with blood and...something else.

“Andraste’s mercy.” Varric breathes out, drawing attention to the corpses around them. All Templars. All glowing red. Dread sinks into Carver’s stomach, shivering as he recalls what happened in Kirkwall. Meredith had become a monster after consuming Red Lyrium and now there was possibly an army of infected Templars at their doorstep?

The rogue hurriedly introduces himself as ‘Cole’, claiming he was here to help. That he had tried to help the Templars but before he could reach them they were all ‘red’. He told him that the Elder One was angry he had taken ‘his’ mages, that he had come for the Herald and the mark on his hand. 

“There.” Cole points to a raised rock formation in the distance, three figures standing atop it, watching over the army. “That is the Elder One. He comes for you, Herald.” 

If Carver wasn’t sober before he certainly was now, for he knew the figure standing in the distance. Actually, he knew all three. He only knew Samson in passing, drunken nights in taverns and brothels before he left Kirkwall for good, but he had been a good man. Now he donned the armor of a Templar once more, bathed in soft, glowing red. 

He knew the Elder One as well, by face and name. Corypheus. The Darkspawn who had attempted to kill him and his brother, who wanted their blood to free himself from his prison. They had killed him, he knew they had. Decapitated him, stabbed him, then lit his body on fire for good measure. He should be DEAD yet there he stood, pointing a clawed hand towards Haven, urging his troops on.  
The absolute cherry on top of this pile of shit? The mage standing slightly behind Corypheus, body cracked and glowing blue, shoulders framed by his ridiculous feathered robe that begged to be set on fire. The sight of him, or perhaps it, caused acid to burn in his throat. 

“Anders?” Varric whispers, Carver shaking his head. 

“No.” He growls out, glaring at what should be a corpse. “Justice.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'll explain how that little plot twist happened but yeah. Anders, or rather Justice, is back with vengeance. Ahah, get it? Thoughts on this development down below and I hope you enjoyed reading!


	8. The Fall of Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Haven under attack Carver must question whether or not he is the right man to fight this nightmarish foe. What if he doesn't survive this fight? More importantly, what does it mean if he DOES?

Carver could hardly hear the screaming of the Inquisition’s forces over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He was angry, confused but more than anything he was terrified. Corypheus was a monster that took everything he and his brother had to put down and now he had the backing of an army of Red Templars. 

Cullen’s voice finally breaks through to the Herald, pointing to the trebuchets. If they could control the flow of battle they might just have a chance against such a massive force. It was a long shot but it was the only one they had at this point. 

“Cassandra!” Carver turns to the Seeker, determination in his eyes. “Get as many people to the Chantry as you can!” He doesn’t even wait for a response before he charges headfirst into battle, not even glancing behind him to see if his party members had followed. It’s not until he feels the cool wash of a barrier over him and sees Bull rushing past him as a bolt of arrows fly over his head that he realizes he’s not alone. 

Gritting his teeth the Herald slams into the first Templar he crosses with his shield, pushing him back. “Snap out of it!” He shouts, moving his sword to defend against the blow of his enemy. “You can still fight it. This is not what you stand for!” It couldn’t be. They had to have been tricked by the Darkspawn to go through with this, just as the mages in Redcliffe had been manipulated. 

As he stares past the man’s helmet into his crimson eyes a thought enters his mind like a cold spike, taking a deep breath. Maker, had he subjected them to this fate by focusing on Redcliffe? Could he have rescued those who still held onto their beliefs if he had just looked closer at the situation as a whole rather than being so single-minded?

He doesn’t see the Templar rogue sneaking up behind him, hearing it shriek in pain as Bull buries his hammer into its side. “Get your head in the fight kid!” Bull grunts out, the shield warrior shaking his head to get rid of the fog in his mind. Bull was right, he could think about the what-ifs later. If they survived. 

The first trebuchet was cleared easily enough, the rocks slamming into the mountainside to send snow and rocks to crush and obstruct the approaching Templars. The second would prove to be trickier. The opposing forces had laid claim to it, the Inquisition soldiers lying dead on the ground. They would have to fire it themselves. 

Once the first Templar sank to the ground Carver looked over his shoulder, nodding to the siege weapon. “Prime the trebuchet Bull, we’ll keep them off you!” It was the most sound decision to make. The Qunari was the strongest of them all and therefore could ready the weapon to fire faster than any of them. Still, it didn’t make the job of fighting off the Red Templars easier. 

If only it had been that easy. If only the second rock that went flying, that hit its mark had been enough to shift the tide of this battle. After all they had blocked off the smooth, easy to access roads and with their heavy armor, it would be far more difficult to reach them. It could give the Inquisition time to formulate a plan or stage a retreat but no. Nothing is ever easy. 

A chill runs through his spine as a twisted roar rattles the sky above, jerking his head upward in time to see the horror flying above them. He doesn’t have much time to take in the dragon’s form, only enough time to register it might be some kind of dragon before it rains fire upon them, sending Carver and his party scattering as the trebuchet bursts into flames.

He gasps for breath, coughing on ash as he stumbles to his feet, Bull’s eye fixed on the form flying above them. “Damn fucking magic shit.” The Qunari growls, Carver retrieving his sword from the ground, counting those around him. 

“Run! Now!” Carver called out, knowing a losing battle when he saw one. Unfortunately, there was a lot between them and their destination. The Archdemon forged a new path for the Templars marching on Haven, raining fire and burning down buildings not meant to hold against such a force. He tried to save anyone he came across but sometimes he could not reach them in time. Though honestly, whose idea was it to pile all of their highly flammable explosives in one place?

He was shocked to see Chancellor Roderick ushering people in through the wooden doors, clutching his side, fingers stained with red. The moment the last of them came through the doors slid shut, Cole coming over to help keep the man on his feet. “He took a blade from a Templar. He’s dying.” It should disturb Carver how easily this young man says that but it appeared the Chancellor knew his fate as well, simply laughing at the newcomers' words. 

Cullen marches forward, a stern look on his face as he steps to Carver. “Whatever time you bought us we lost to that Archdemon.” Ah, so that’s what it was. Wonderful. Why couldn’t it have been a nice, normal dragon? “At this rate they’ll kill us all!” No shit, Carver wanted to say, but he was interrupted by their strange new friend before he could. 

“The Elder One doesn’t care about Haven. He only wants the Herald.” 

Those words sunk like a stone into the younger Hawke’s stomach, looking down at the mark on his hand, face growing pale. Of course. He was the target of this assault, the key to stopping Corypheus’ plans. Everyone else was just between that monster and his goal. “It doesn’t matter what he wants. He’ll kill us all just because I’m here with you.” He whispers, turning around with a deep frown on his face. 

Then Cullen announces his plan to use the final trebuchet to cause an avalanche right above them. To bury both the Templars and the Inquisition. Carver could feel bile stirring in his throat, conflicted about the options they had but really, was there any other option? Was there no way to escape?

Cole looks to Carver with a soft frown, then to the Chancellor, tilting his head as if to listen. “Yes.” He breathes out, standing up and going to Carver’s side. “There is a way. A way to save everyone.” The rogue spoke, gently taking his arm as the man struggled to his feet. 

“The boy is right.” The old man grunts, approaching Carver as he turns towards his old enemy. The man stumbles, Carver moving quickly to grab him before he could hit the ground. “There is another path, through the mountains. You wouldn’t know it unless you had made the summer pilgrimage.” Blue eyes widened as Roderick looked up at him with more kindness and concern than he ever had held before. 

“Andraste must have shown it to me. I didn’t mean to take that path but..she must have known.” He whispers in awe, staring up at Carver as if he was the son of the Maker himself. He helps the man stand, Cole coming to the Chancellor's side to hold him up in Carver’s stead. 

Carver licks his lips, heart beating loudly as he realizes what he must do. If he ran from this fight the Elder One would follow, ignore Haven and burn the Inquisition down and then no one would be able to warn the world. No...it had to be him. 

“I’m right here with you Junior.” Varric reassures, Carver, glancing down at him with a deep frown. 

“You’re going with them.” He orders, pointing to the group of civilians already retreating out of the Chantry, going on before he can be interrupted. “If you die who will tell my story?” He smirks but that’s not it. They both know that the storyteller is the only one who knows where Hawke is and his brother will be needed if this truly is Corypheus. 

Sera curses vehemently as she walks over, deciding that if Varric wasn’t going to tag along she would take his place. As for Dorian and Bull, well, neither of them seemed content to leave his side. “Always did want to go out with a bang.” The Altus joked as they walked out the doors of the Chantry, weapons drawn as enemies greeted them. 

“Let's give that dwarf something to write about.” Carver grinned, steeling his nerves to push through the onslaught of enemies. They would pass the burned remains of corpses, people that he recognized but they couldn’t hesitate, not for one moment. All they could do was push through, reach the trebuchet and begin to turn the wheel. 

Every inch Carver turned that thing felt like a notch he was ticking off his increasingly short life span. Like he himself was counting the moments to his death but he tried not to think about it. He was going to die but he wasn’t going to be some sniveling coward begging for a quick death. He would face Corypheus head-on, rob him of complete victory, and go to his family with his head held high. That was the plan.

The plan did not include getting torn to pieces by a giant behemoth of a Templar. How was that thing even possible? Meredith had been able to awaken and manipulate those statues in Kirkwall, sure, but this was a different level. A mutated monstrosity that was neither man nor beast, with one scrawny human arm and another bulbous, hulking hunk of red lyrium that would be better used as a battering ram than a limb. It fell just the same though, after which it became blessedly quiet. 

The calm before the storm. “Go!” Carver growled out, twisting the trebuchet’s wheel while looking over his shoulder. “You don’t have much time. Run!” He ordered, Bull looking over hesitantly before he grabbed both Sera and Dorian by the arm, dragging them away before they broke into a full sprint. With that the human turned his full attention to the task of preparing his trap, a strangled shout leaving his throat as he forced the machine down the last notch.

He only took a moment to make sure the aim was right before he turned his eyes to the sky, banging his sword against his shield. “Corypheus! You and I have unfinished business!” His challenge was answered by the Magister’s Archdemon, Carver stumbling back and jumping out of the line of literal fire. He cries out in pain as the aftershock knocks him back, rolling onto his side with a wince.

An ear-splitting ringing fills his head as he struggles to get up, squinting to see the form moving through the fire. There, just as ugly and deformed as the day his family had stumbled across him, was Corypheus. Yet he felt different. Power radiated from this dark being, a power that made it clear Carver didn’t stand a chance in a one on one fight. Though the Archdemon at his back made it clear that this was anything but a fair fight.

“Enough!” The darkspawn shouts, a wave of power forcing the monstrosity back, Carver finding the strength to stand once more. He grits his teeth, holding his side as the forgotten Magister proclaims himself the Elder One and demands that he be shown the proper respect. That Carver kneel and worship him.

Instead, the young man laughs, tossing his head back and using his anger to fight past the fear, sneering at the man. “Have you forgotten who you’re talking to?” Perhaps he’s a bit proud, thinking the man will remember him somehow. After all he and his brother had made a valiant effort in killing him and their father had sealed him away. That had to mean something.

Clearly not. “I am talking to an ant who does not understand he is at the foot of a God.” Corypheus raises a strange orb in one hand, looking down at it as a familiar glow consumes it. “You have stolen what was meant for me. I am here to reclaim it.” His hand shakes, lifting up as if drawn towards the Magister. Carver grasps his wrist as if to hold himself back, stumbling forward while gritting his teeth through the pain. 

He goes into how he was the one who planned the ritual that destroyed the Temple of Sacred Ashes, all for the purpose of creating the Anchor. A ‘weapon to assault the heavens’. Not only had Carver been so rude as to interrupt the ritual but he had the nerve to take the Anchor and undo all his hard work. With that a far more powerful wave of energy shook his body, the human unable to hold back the cry of pain that ripped from his throat as he fell to his knees. 

He tries not to pay any mind to the dragon hovering above him, instead forcing himself to stare defiantly at the self-proclaimed God. “I don’t care what this thing is! I’m not letting you have it!” Carver cries out as another wave of pain courses through his body, doubling over as he hears the dark being approach him. 

“It is not yours to claim. It never was.” Corypheus growls out, grabbing Carver by his marked hand and lifting him bodily off the ground, the warrior squirming uselessly to put up some manner of fight. “Once I entered the Fade to serve the Old Gods in person. I found only darkness, chaos, and corruption.” He brings Carver up to his face, the human twisting his face away in disgust. “I will enter the Black City once more. Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods and it is empty.”

With that he bodily throws Carver into the siege weapon, Carver grunting as he lands on the ground with a heavy thump. Distantly he hears Corypheus claim that the mark has been sullied by the human’s meddling but he would still find a way. All Carver cared about was finding his sword, grasping its hilt before staggering back up to his feet. Briefly, he wipes his face with one bloodied hand, standing before the Magister while looking to the sky. 

His eyes follow a fiery arrow up into the heavens, breathing a sigh of relief. The Inquisition was safe. His friends were safe. Now it was time to end this. “You know what your problem is Corypheus?” Carver chuckles out, pointing his sword to the monster with a defiant smirk. “You always underestimate my family!” With that, he slams his foot into the lever, the sound of chains unfurling as the trebuchet fires its last rock. 

The Herald doesn’t bother looking to see how the Magister reacts. He’s running downhill, looking for a way to escape his seemingly inevitable death. Even though he accepted his demise earlier that night one could not ignore their survival instinct and if running was his only option he would run. Before he can reach any semblance of cover the ground gives way below him and with a cry Carver sinks below the ground, a cloud of white filling his vision before his back slams into the ground below.

He closes his eyes, fully expecting to be buried under the snow but can only hear the rumble of the avalanche above him. It goes on for what feels like forever, the ground beneath him shaking from the force above but then, silence. Carver waits a full minute before cracking his eyes open, afraid of what he would find.

A rock tunnel. No, not just a cave, a cave that had clearly been mined in the past. Stripped of resources, forgotten. How had the Inquisition not known about this? Slowly he comes to his feet, breathing deeply before wrenching off the glove of his right hand, gazing down at the mark before reaching up and pressing on the pulse point of his neck. There, as strong as ever, he feels his heartbeat flutter against his fingers. 

A smirk comes to his lips, shoulders shaking after a moment before he breaks into a relieved laugh, cutting off with a pained wince. Alive but not unscathed. Carver holds onto his chest as he slowly makes his way down the only path he can find, thankful it’s a straight shot. Thankful that is, until he sees a small group of demons before him. 

Carver reaches for his blade, cursing softly as he finds it sheath empty. Of course, he had dropped it while running away from the avalanche! He grits his teeth, watching as the Despair Demon hones in on his location. Without even thinking he points his marked hand to the creature and, without knowing how, manages to open a small Rift. It pulls at the demons who scramble to get away, only to be sucked into the Veil from where they came.

“Well,” he breathes out, blue eyes turning to the palm of his hand as the bright green glow dies down, “that’s new.” It was useful though so he wouldn't complain.

Slowly he makes his way to the entrance of the cave, the cold wind creeping into his skin before he even steps outside. Blue eyes gaze up at the mountain, the harsh wind and snow blinding him to what lay ahead. A smart man would stay inside, wait for the morning when the sun would warm the frozen air, and light the treacherous path ahead. 

There were people waiting for him though. It was unlikely that the survivors of Haven would linger once the sun came up. They’d believe him dead and he couldn’t blame them. Carver wasn’t sure himself if he was in fact alive at this point. With a deep breath the Herald takes his first step into the blizzard, raising his arm to shield his eyes from the worst of heaven’s fury, starting the climb up the mountain. 

He feels ice cling to his exposed skin like a second layer of skin but it doesn’t slow him down. When the wolves begin to howl over the dying wind of the blizzard it only spurs the man forward. Shivers rake through his body as he struggles to drag his feet out of the snow, even as the blizzard dies out. 

Only when Carver spots a small campfire in the distance does he allow himself to rest, the dying embers doing little to thaw the chill that had settled in his bones. It was there though, glowing red and alive like the growing hope in his chest. Even though he couldn’t see tracks this small sign was enough to prove he was on the right track. More than that he was close. 

With an exhausted grunt, he hauls himself through what he hopes are the last steps of his journey. Once he gets to the rocky walls he leans on them for support, eyes squinting as he spots footprints in the snow. 

“Carver!” 

His eyes shoot up from the ground to the source of that voice, meeting the gaze of one shocked Dorian Pavus. The Altus is standing there with snow on his shoulders, perhaps part of the group currently on watch for the caravan of survivors behind him. Behind him, Casandra and Cullen stand with a pair of soldiers, all of whom were looking in his direction now. 

With safety in sight, Carver allowed the exhaustion seeping into his bones to take him. He falls to his knees as cries of his name echo distantly in his ears, arms lifting his body up as he allows himself to fall into slumber. 

\----

The sounds of a brewing argument stir the Herald from his slumber, groaning softly as he twists on the cot they laid him out on. He leans up slowly, eyes creaking open to view the advisors bickering amongst themselves. He can’t blame them. It’s hard to tell what their next move should be, what they can do against such a terrible monster. 

A gentle hand on his shoulder brings Carver’s attention elsewhere, frowning as Mother Giselle gently pushes against it to try and urge him back down. He shrugs off the gentle touch. “You need your rest.” She pleads, her eyes kind and concerned as she draws her hand back.

“Who can rest when they’re clucking like angry hens?” The warrior counters, sitting up slowly and wincing, curling his fingers into his side. He looks down, noting he has been stripped of his armor and his chest had been wrapped up in bandages. There’s no blood so he can only imagine his ribs must have been bruised. Bitterly he wonders who magically found bandages for the Herald of Andraste when so many others likely needed them more than he.

The Chantry Mother’s lips quirk into a smile, shifting on her stool to face him fully. “A luxury we have, because of you. You bought us time to escape and ensured our enemies could not follow. Now we turn to doubt, to blame, to try and reason what has happened.” She muses, hands folding in her lap.

“I know who is to blame.” Though that’s not what he feels in his heart, no matter how confidently he says it. He and Hawke had found Corypheus, killed him when the monster broke out of his chains and yet now the ancient Magister was out unleashing a new plague upon the world. If they had done more, tried to replicate the sealing procedure their father had done, perhaps this whole thing could have been avoided or at least postponed to a less chaotic time. 

“All the more reason.” She states, sitting up straighter as her eyes turned to their frustrated leaders. “We experienced the power of that creature firsthand. The terrible wrath that was unleashed. Yet you, in the middle of it all, come back to us nearly unscratched.” She breathes out, looking back to Carver with a hint of awe. “It is frightening what we have been called to do, what we must now endure.”

Carver laughs bitterly, shaking his head before he lifts himself up onto tired feet. “All the more reason for me to get back out there.” He grunts out, rolling his shoulders as he looks down at the Chantry Mother. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, really. But Corypheus? He’s...well.” He doesn’t have the words to describe Corypheus. He turns to leave, leaning against the wood pole holding the tent up, taking in the sight before him.

Everywhere he turned his eye he could see the faces of the defeated. Even Josephine, so bright and full of optimism, was hunched over. Just as he was about to step out of the tent he heard Mother Giselle stand, looking over his shoulder as the first notes of a familiar song reached his ears. 

A wave of nostalgia fell over the warrior as he recalled the last time he heard that song. It was during their voyage to Kirkwall that his own mother had sung it to a child whose mother was too sick to care for him. Carver had fell asleep to that song, rocked by the waves. That had been an uncertain time, just as the future was unknown now. It was a comforting thought to believe things might get better. Weakly he smiles at the woman as she stands at his side, ignoring how childish it was to be brought to peace by an old Chantry Hymn.

Before he could voice any sort of opinion however Leliana joined in the song as well. His mouth fell open in mild shock. It seemed so out of character for her. Then another voice joined in, then another, and another, till the whole camp seemed to be in on the song. He steps back as they begin to congregate at his tent, eyes widening as some bowed, others saluting, folding their hands in prayer. All while looking at _him_. To say that he was feeling overwhelmed as the final words echoed across the mountain would be an understatement. 

“Even in the most uncertain of times there is still hope, Herald.” Mother Giselle stated, smiling briefly at him before moving to join the devout who beckoned her to come to them. 

So stunned was Carver at the display that he didn’t realize he was being approached until a slim hand touched his shoulder. He jerks his head to Solas, who motions Carver to follow him outside the camp where they can have a moment alone. There he explains the origin of the orb that Corypheus had used to destroy the Conclave, that the act of opening it had likely been the cause of said explosion. That it was elvhen in origin did not matter to the warrior. All that mattered was the man who wielded it. 

More than that though, Solas revealed that he might have an idea of where the Inquisition could go. A stronghold fitting of what this army would become. He would let his advisors know in the morning about it. For now, he might just get some rest.


	9. Agreeing to Disagree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Carver was struggling to find the survivors on top of the lonely mountain Bull and Dorian have time to think over what has happened. Both are forced to acknowledge things that might have been. Until he turns back up and both have a convenient excuse to shove their feelings onto eachother.

The quiet air around the camp smothered any feeling of relief some might feel of having survived the horror that was the attack on Haven. It would have been a massacre if not for Carver’s sacrifice. Bull had silently promised himself he would never let Carver die on his watch after he sent him to Temple of Sacred ashes. Now, once again, he had survived while the man he swore to protect died. At least this time the warrior saw what he was up against and faced it head on.

Despite the brave face Carver had put on he could tell how terrified he was. Not of death, no, the young Hawke had rushed head first into death many times before. It was the monster he was facing that scared the shit out of him. A monster he was now learning the young man had a history with.

Varric sat across from him by the fire, hands folded in front of himself with his chin resting atop them. The flames danced in his eyes but the dwarf wasn’t seeing them, his look distant and thoughtful. The storyteller did not often shed his joking facade but for this all masks were dropped. There was only a look of intense seriousness on his face, nails biting into his hands as he recalled the past. 

“We killed that bastard years ago.” Varric mumbled under his breath, memories falling back to that day. “Junior got careless and was almost kidnapped by the Cartel. Came to investigate who had the balls to try that one and we met him there.” He breathed out, leaning away from the flames, running a hand over his face. “Corypheus. One of the original Magisters. The Original Darkspawn.” He mumbled under his breath, Bull’s eye roaming from Varric to a tree behind him.

Dorian had been lingering near the fire as well, staring up at the smoke floating above the mountains. A somber reminder of the fate they had just escaped. The mage had been quiet the entire time, eyes always falling back to the small town he had nothing but complaints about. Too cold, too packed, too uncivilized for his sensitive nature. Thinking on it now he probably wasn’t thinking back to Haven at all. Bull suspected that like himself Dorian’s thoughts were focused on their more than likely dead Herald.

Ever since he arrived at Haven Dorian had stuck close to Carver’s side. He would never admit it but the Ben-Hassrath could tell how uncomfortable the Altus was despite the abundance of mages around him. Couldn’t blame him, considering that no one had anything kind to say about Tevinter. Even Krem kept a careful eye on the man, trying to figure out exactly what had brought the man so far from his home. Carver, however, had shed his past doubts about the man. 

His former lover hadn’t revealed everything that had happened in the future and Bull didn’t press him about it. The kid sometimes looked like he wanted to say something but then his face went pale and he couldn’t turn his head away from Bull fast enough. With Dorian he could hold a conversation. Share in their common trauma, laugh as they got drunk off of bad ale. His chest ached as he recalled that there was a time that they were once that close and bound to get closer.   
He was down an eye but Bull wasn’t blind. The way Carver’s hand inched towards Dorian and then pulled back the moment he noticed. The way the Altus’ eyes grew soft when the doe eyed warrior wasn’t looking. How Dorian bristled when Carver teased him for being ‘as primmed as a royal cat’. The mage had it bad and now neither of them would get to act on bottled emotions. Carver was gone and that was that.

The mage walked away as Varric began to regale the tale of how the two Hawke’s had banned together to take down the wicked Darkspawn. Likely felt guilty that it had been one of his own that started this mess. Not exactly sure how he could blame himself for the actions of a Magister that was born hundreds, maybe even a thousand years before him but the Qunari couldn’t bring himself to go after the man. Instead he lingers with Varric, half-listening to the dwarf and half-listening for...well, he doesn’t know. A miracle.

He’s not expecting to get one.

\-----

As Dorian stalks away from the fire he wears a deep frown, the biting cold clearing his mind, allowing him to think with more clarity. He knew what he was getting into when he joined the Inquisition. A fight against his countrymen, against mad cultists who believed that the world would be better if it all burned. He did not expect that madman to be one of the Darkspawn that the old Chantry Tales warned him about. Of course, Tevinter always claimed that the Blight being brought on by the Magisters of Old was nothing more than a lie told by uncivilized Southerners. 

But no. The stories were all true. The Ancient Magisters did cause the Blight and since their first attempt at ending the world was going so poorly one had reared his impressively ugly head to finish the job. A heavy stone sank to his stomach as he realized it was likely the work of the Venatori that caused the explosion at the Conclave, that their hand was likely involved in the spread of that vile Red Lyrium spotted all across Thedas. Perhaps the hardest thing to take was realizing that Corypheaus was now responsible for the death of his dear friend.

Carver was brutish, in a word. He held a position of great respect but hardly acted the part. He drank that vile piss called ‘ale’ nearly every night, somehow managing to convince the Altus to join him, he took less baths than he desperately needed and was far too eager to drag Dorian around wherever he pleased. He wasn’t sure why the warrior was so eager to have him around. Maybe it was what they went through when his mentor sent him through time or perhaps it was because the Vint tolerated his crude jokes. 

It could also be that Dorian saw Carver as, well, Carver. Yes he was ‘The Herald of Andraste’ and Dorian had called him so once or twice but the title just didn’t fit. The way his eyes lit up when the Altus simply called him by his name alone was more than enough to continue doing it. In turn, Carver had treated the Altus as one of his friends. One could argue that friends didn’t shove poison into their comrades hands but the company made up for it. 

It didn’t hurt that the Herald possessed the most pleasant blue eyes Dorian had ever seen. Or that he had arms that could break a man in half. As great as the view was from the front it was just as good from the back but Dorian had never voiced his observations to anyone. Especially not around the Qunari spy. 

For a man who liked to point out that he was Ben-Hassrath every chance he got the man was an open book when it came to Carver. Dorian was concerned at first when he caught the man watching them from across the way but upon closer inspection he found not malice but envy in the man’s gaze. How he tried to keep his former charge close to his side, how his scarred hand twitched to touch Carver but did not act on it. He did not know if they had a relationship in the past but it was clear that Bull desired their Herald, whether he admitted it or not. 

Though he supposed now neither of them would be able to do anything with their unproclaimed feelings. One could only have so much luck and Dorian had heard enough to know that Carver had surely used up all of it by now. Briefly he wondered if it would have been better if the young Hawke had become a Templar, a path Dorian frowned upon but understood. Yet it was likely he would have ended up red or dead, just like the Templars that had attacked Haven. There were only so many impossible situations one could avoid. 

Surely the man was dead. No one could survive that. Yet Dorian found himself watching on the edge of camp silently with the Seeker and Commander, eyes never leaving the crack carved in the mountain path. He was certain that Carver was dead yet the moment a lone shadow came into view Dorian found a small spark of hope lighting in his chest. He does not hear the Seeker when he begins walking up the hill towards the entrance, heart hammering so loudly it drowns even his thoughts. 

One day he will brag about how he was witness to a miracle. How he was the first to spot Carver coming out of the darkness. How he was the one to catch Carver as he allowed himself to fall to the ground. Ok, maybe it was more like the Herald fell against him while the mage collapsed under the weight of his heavy armor but that was a small detail. One day he might even claim that he had never doubted the man’s survival for a moment. 

That day was not today. Today he helped Cassandra get Carver up to his feet, stepping back to allow Cullen to loop the man’s arm over his shoulder. Today he’d shout at everyone who wanted to get a glimpse of the man to clear out of the way as they rushed the battered and bruised champion to the healer’s tent. He’d shove the spare bottle of lyrium he had been hoarding into the hand of his fellow mage and no one would ask why he was hiding it. Then he would step back and he would not linger around to make sure his friend was alive. That was not what he was doing at all.

Armor was stripped off of Carver quickly to find any injuries, yet none could be found. The blood that soaked into his under armor was not his own and when they dug further they found only a few broken bones and numerous bruises. Dorian allowed himself a sigh of relief before slinking back, heading towards one of the now empty fires. There he allowed this new information to sink in. 

Doria was not what one would call a religious man. He did ot go to the Chantry when they held sermons. He didn't sing the Chat of Light every day nor did he follow it to the letter. Despite this there was no doubt in his mind that the Maker’s hand had a play in this. How else could anyone survive such a monster? Or the avalanche that followed it? Or...really, any one of the things that Carver Hawke had survived actually killed hundreds of people yet he LIVED. If that wasn’t divine intervention, he didn’t know what was.

He folds his hands together, bowing his head to pray for Carver’s swift recovery. He doesn’t notice someone approaching him until a finger gently taps his shoulder, sending the mage jolting up from where he sat, turning swiftly around. “Bull!” He cried out, staring up at the massive Qunari before frowning deeply. “You are going to kill someone sneaking around like that. No, wait, you likely have in the past.” He grumbles out, looking up at the man who is giving him a knowing look.

Bull doesn’t have to ask the question that’s on his mind for Dorian to answer it, turning back towards the flames. “He’s practically untouched.” He breaths out, once more sitting down on the makeshift stool. “I suspect that he will be up and about by morning.” Bull does well to hide his sigh of relief but Dorian can practically feel the tension rolling out of the Qunari’s body. “I trust you will make sure he gets proper rest. I fear our illustrious leader will attempt to start fixing things the moment he wakes.” 

“Leader, huh?” Dorian perks up his head as the words slip from the Qunari’s mouth, looking back at him. Ah, he had said that, hadn’t he? “You’re not wrong.” The Ben-Hassrath muses, looking back to the healer’s tent where his charge now rested. “He’s been making the big decisions since this whole mess started. After pulling this out of his ass I don’t think the people will follow anyone else.” The mercenary leader rolls his shoulders and they both know it’s true. It was one thing when the man’s miraculous survival was just a story. Now, hundreds had witnessed it first hand. They would follow him to the Fade and back, no questions asked. 

That does open up some concerns though. “You will write to your homeland about this no doubt.” Dorian mused, reaching out to put his hands over the fire. “Tell me Bull. What will they do now?” He doesn’t expect an answer and he suspects the Qunari isn’t entirely sure of the answer. Never before has the world faced such a threat. Perhaps this might be the kick to get the Qunari to play nice. 

Or attempt to conquer the entire world. Maker knows they’d feel so much better if Carver was under their thumb rather than without a leash. The thought brings a frown to his lips, standing up and turning to the mercenary leader. “Carver is a reckless man, isn’t he?” There’s a grunt in response. “Not the brightest candle in the Chantry either.” Another grunt of agreement. “It’s a miracle he isn’t dead already.” Bull is silent this time but he knows the man agrees with him once more.

“So you understand that he must be protected at all costs.” His eyes meet Bull’s one good eye as he says this. It’s not a statement but a dare. Daring the Qunari to hurt Carver just because they said so. They would be beyond foolish if they did so but their culture offered little when it came to common sense. All they saw was the bigger picture. The little cogs that make it work meant nothing.

Bull stares at Dorian long and hard, the pair cutting an imposing figure in the light of the fire. “You like him.” A deflection. A rather good one but the mage doesn’t let it show, brushing his feelings aside for now.

“Carver is a brute but he’s tolerable. Certainly more so than you.” The Altus huffs out, Bull offering him a smirk in response. “Though I am not the only one to enjoy his company,” Dorian accuses, eyes narrowing as he goes on. “I am not blind Iron Bull. I am also not stupid. I am well aware of what your people are willing to sacrifice for the ‘greater good’.” 

Bull doesn’t answer him, the silence answering more than words could. There was also...hesitation there, somewhere, in the dip of Bull’s smile. Dorian turns back towards the fire, wrapping his arms around himself. “He trusts you. Confides in you.”

“He trusts you too.” Bull notes, giving the mage a calculating stare. “Some would say too much.”

“Perhaps.” Dorian would not deny he had ulterior motives. His father had sent people after him before. After today there would be no safer place than the Inquisition, even with all the prejudice that hung about. He knew the sting of betrayal and if the Qunari ever showed signs of it he would be the first to Carver’s defence, no matter how it made him look. 

So lost in his thoughts he doesn’t realize what is happening behind them until a wave of cheers reaches his ears, both of them looking towards the healer’s tent. A massive crowd had gathered around it with Carver standing in the center. The man looks flabbergasted, numbly following Solas away from the crowd of his followers. Yet another individual in the Inquisition he did not fully trust. 

“Maker’s Breath!” He groans out, following the Herald with his eyes as Solas takes him away to speak to him privately. “Was he always this stubborn?!” 

Bull laughs out loud, shaking his head while smiling fondly at the sight, a wave of relief coming from them both to see the warrior up and about. “It got to the point Stitches drugged him to keep him on bed rest when he got injured. Always feels like he has something to prove.” The Qunari mused, looking down to Dorian, noticing how at peace he looked.  
“So,” he teases, a smirk coming to the man’s lips, “you going to tell him?” It would be better. He knows Dorian hasn’t revealed his reasons for being here but he trusts his desire to help is genuine, unimpeded by whatever drove him from his home. Dorian was stable, predictable. Carver needed that right now.

Dorian blinks up at the mercenary leader in confusion, taking a moment to process his words before his cheeks flush. “No!” He blurts out, clearing his throat. “There is nothing to tell. If anything you should be the one discussing your feelings for eachother. You get all doe eyed any time he goes past.” The mage deflects, waving his hand in the man’s direction. Even if Bull said that their relationship wasn’t of any consequence Dorian didn’t feel right about pursuing Carver until they had discussed that. 

It was different in Tevinter where quick trysts in the dark meant nothing and so too did the men who he had sex with. Carver did not deserve that. If he got in a relationship with the Ferelden man and then he regained his memory...ugh. His stomach twisted just thinking about it. No, Bull cared for Carver first, and thus Dorian had no right to take action on his own feelings.

“That’s in the past.” Bull grumbled out, knowing Dorian was well aware of this. He was trying to give him the go ahead as gently as he possibly could but clearly the mage wasn’t buying it. 

“A past he might one day remember. One you clearly don’t regret.” Dorian argued, hearing the crunching of snow and peering at the noise’s source from the corner of his eye. “We will not discuss this again.” He hisses out, noting that it was Carver approaching them. 

“Bull! Dorian!” Carver shouted out, waving his hand as if he hadn’t already been seen. “Dorian, I need you to go to the mages and tell them not to get comfortable. Bull, same to you. We’re moving at dawn.” The Herald stated with a smile on his face, clearly eager to get started. 

Yet the thought of getting up early after such a tumultuous night had Dorian going pale, gaping at Carver as if he had sprouted horns. Thankfully he doesn’t get the chance to say something undignified, Bull taking him by the shoulder, chuckling. “The Inquisition can wait until you get some proper rest.” Carver gives him a look that says he won’t wait regardless and the bodyguard begins to guide him towards the Charger’s camp.

“At least eat something Carver. You’re gonna keel over if you don’t take care of yourself.” If Stitches slipped something into the broth before handing it over the Qunari wouldn’t say anything. 

Dorian watches the two go, quickly turning his gaze to the fire as jealousy bubbles up. He’s ready to stamp it down, content to let things remain as they are.

“He holds him so close, looks at him with a fondness only shared by lovers. Large, firm, steady, a constant presence at his side. You want that too but you tell yourself you can’t.” Words stripped right from the depths of his mind cause the mage to leap where he stood, looking over to the stranger who suddenly appeared at his fire. It was that strange boy who tried to warn them, poking at the fire curiously with a stick, eyes looking up at him after a time.

Silence reins over the two of them for a moment, the only noise between them being the crackling of the flames. Then he speaks once more. “Sorry, that didn’t help. I’m Cole.”

“Yes. So you are.”


	10. An unplanned but not unexpected reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carver solidifies his place in the Inquisition, leading the people out of Haven and to the ancient stronghold of Skyhold. A new title and new responsibilities are pushed upon him, along with an old pain in his ass.

Morning light came and with it a wave of activity. The survivors of the tragedy that occurred the night before banded together to pack up what was left of their own home. Despite many protests Carver was up as well, helping where he could, supervising when he could do nothing else. The moment the last of the refugees were packed Carver made his way to the front and began his treck up towards the North. 

Solas and he had spoken about their next move at length last night. While Carver didn’t like his constant droning about the elves he did appreciate his knowledge of the past. The man’s dreams had revealed much to him and Solas’ travels had revealed many long forgotten areas. He promised that the fortress he had come across would be more than enough to hold the Inquisition. He prayed the man was right. 

So as the mage had suggested Carver led the way and the people followed. He would look behind him every now to make sure no one was falling behind before continuing on, being their shield in front of them. It was hardly needed though.The mountaintops were peaceful, lacking the threats below, allowing them safe passage to their destination. Then, just as he reached the crest of a hill, he spotted it on the horizon.

A solid stronghold in the middle of a sea of white. It was relatively untouched, tattered flags barely holding on but still there, an echo of what once was. He took in a breath, holding it as his eyes drank in every detail. The walls were tall and sturdy, the castle held within those walls was huge and there was little obstructing their view from miles around. There were no woods for Corypheus to hide behind, no hidden paths to sneak his troops through. 

“It’s perfect.” Carver breathed out as Solas joined his side, smiling slightly as he held onto his staff. 

“Skyhold.” The elf confirmed and Carver could not think of a better name for such a fortress. It was the type of keep he had envisioned as a child when he dreamt of being a knight serving Fereldin’s people. It was beaten and a bit worse for wear but he imagined that the refugees would be quick to fix that. This place would be a fitting start to the Inquisition’s campaign against Corypheus.

He looks over his shoulder with a wide grin as Cassandra waits for him at the bottom of the hill, waving her up before disappearing over the crest. She follows, as do all others, and he can tell the sight of their new home enraptured the people as much as he. They march on, quickly now with new purpose, eager to claim this place as their home.

Getting into Skyhold takes a bit of work. The drawbridge is down and in the end the chains need to be broken to bring it down. Just a testament to how long the fortress had been standing. Any damage to its walls was done by time, not battle, and would be undone by time as well. Cullen is quick to command his soldiers to secure the area while Lelliana has her scouts search the inside of the buildings. As for their esteemed diplomat she had the impossible task of convincing Carver to rest.

Impossible indeed. If someone was not watching the room where the Herald was supposed to be resting he would be missing a moment later. It wouldn’t take much to find him. The younger Hawke could always be found where there was work to be done, not one to rest on his laurels. Despite his best efforts Carver found himself on bed rest most of the time, relieved when the healer told him that the last of his minor wounds had been healed. 

It was annoying honestly. Considering how much the man had survived already the advisors should have known Carver could work through such minor wounds. He wasn’t just Carver now, as much as he hated to admit that. He was the Herald of Andraste, the enemy of Corypheus, and the last hope of the world if anyone was to be believed. At least there were those in his inner circle who still saw him as a human. 

Stepping out of his temporary chambers a free man Carver stretches out his arms, ready for work. He doesn’t have time to determine what to do next. Cassandra is nearby, the Inquisition Council with her and when she spots him he actually smiles, beckoning him over. Whatever they were discussing couldn’t have been too important as they disperse as he nears the Seeker. 

“More arrive by the hour.” She muses, looking towards the drawbridge as another caravan pulls through. “Skyhold has become a pilgrimage.” She crosses her arms behind her back, clearly proud of what the Inquisition has become.

Carver is too. To see it take its first stumbling steps and then rise from the ashes, to be a part of history. It was as exciting as it was overwhelming. “They believe in the Inquisition.” He hums out, looking to the Seeker with a smile. She started this, after all. It was her victory more so than his.

She disagreed. “They believe in you.” The Seeker turns about and heads up the steps, Carver frowning in confusion but following her nonetheless. “This is not the war we anticipated.” Cassandra stated, climbing the steps before stopping to look back at Carver. “Corypheus is not the enemy we thought we were fighting.” There’s concern on her face and Carver matches it.

Sure this place is secure but he doesn’t fault her for her fear. Not after Haven. “My family’s fight.” He grumbles out, looking down at his scarred hand, frowning deeply. Perhaps if the Elder One had not heard a Hawke had his mark he would not have crushed Haven so completely. Maybe lives could have been spared. If it had been someone else, maybe Corypheus would have held his hand a while longer. 

“No.” Cassandra bluntly stated, once more putting her hands behind her back, offering Carver a stern look. “This is your fight. Corypheus might have had dealings with your family in the past but now he sees only you as his rival.” She looks back out towards the new refugees. “The people see that as well.”  
Once more Carver finds himself confused, following after his fellow warrior when she continues on. “It is not the mark on your hand that got Corypheus’ attention. You sealed the Breach, yes, but you were the one who secured the mages. You brought us out of Haven, your decisions brought peace in the chaos. Whenever action needed to be taken you were always the first one to take the first step forward.” She stops at the top of the stairs, motioning Carver ahead of her. What he sees halts him in his tracks.

It’s not that Leliana is there that takes him off guard. He’s become used to having her or one of her agents lingering in his shadow. What has taken him by surprise is the blade in her hands. It is beautiful. Silver shines brightly in the mid-day sun, the blade emerging from the mouth of a golden dragon, the hilt wrapped in fine red leather. This is not the type of blade to be used in battle. It’s a symbol, like the ones used by a King, or Emperor or….Oh. OH.

His eyes go wide as understanding dawns on him, Cassandra smiling as she gently pushes him towards the blade. “The Inquisition requires a leader. The leader that has already been guiding them.” She reaffirms his growing understanding, Carver looking about as murmurs fill the air. Below, a crowd has begun to form, Cullen and Josephine smiling below. Clearly they had spread the word that this moment was coming and everyone looked eager to witness this moment in history.

This was the type of thing he dreamed of in Kirkwall. To burst from Garrett’s shadow and rise to center stage, to be the one making the decisions and leading the charge. This was all he ever wanted. Why then did his blood turn to ice, tongue feeling numb in his mouth as he struggled to breathe, let alone speak. “You.” There. That was it. Cassandra had just put the final nail in his coffin. 

This seems like the sort of moment one makes some profound statement. Something about not being cut out for the job, or that this power should not belong in the hands of any one man. “Me?” That’s what comes out of Carver’s mouth as he stares at the Seeker, pointing at his own chest with all the elegance of a child caught stealing cookies from the baker’s rack.

Cassandra chuckles under her breath, looking to the blade once more. “Giving this power to anyone is a daunting position. Yet I do not believe that you are the wrong one.” She sets her gaze to Carver, determination and pride set in her eyes. “I have little doubt you are the wrong choice.”

He gulps, looking back to the blade. Tentatively he reaches out, tracing the blade with a single finger. It holds no magical power and is likely made of some light, pretty metal that would make it worthless in combat but there is power there. Power that could break a man, break nations in the wrong hands and the people, for some reason only known to the Maker, wanted him to wield it. “Whatever the Inquisition is to become,” he grasps the hilt of the sword, the spy master’s fingers uncurling so Carver could take it from her hands, “how you lead. That is up to you.” 

Carver lifts the blade up to his eyes, staring at his own reflection. He looks terrified. That’s not the sort of look he should be wearing when the people are clearly waiting for him to say SOMETHING now is it? He takes in a deep breath, forcing himself to wear a brave face before he turns to the Seeker. “Corypheus has to be stopped. I’ve seen the power he holds and what he intends to do with it.” He grits his teeth. “He intends to be a God, to destroy this world and shape it in his own image. I will die before he comes even close to that goal.”

Cassandra lets out a breath she had been holding, stepping to the edge of the stone landing to look down at the crowd. Apparently it hadn’t mattered if he accepted it or not. According to Josiephine the people had already learned of his new title, which likely meant letters had been sent to anyone with power worthy of note. Then Cullen asks the crowd if they would follow him, if they would fight, if they believed they would win. The growing cheers that echoed in the empty stone walls made Carver believe those words, thawing the ice in his veins and lighting a fire in his heart. 

The Herald. The Inquisitor. People shout out, calling out his name and titles and the new Inquisitor can’t help but get caught up in the moment. His face splits into a grin, raising the blade high above his head towards the heavens. It was childish, an act of pure bravado but since even their fair ambassador was getting caught up in the celebration, why not?

The cheers only died down as his council led him into the main keep. His council. His Inquisition. That was going to take some getting used to. Dust and small debri fell down as the giant wood doors opened, Carver looking about with a low whistle. “Impressive.” He muses, seeing the beginnings of something great. 

“Now then,” Leliana began, stopping in the middle of the hall, “we should discuss our enemy. Varric tells me you have had dealings with this Corypheus before.” The spymaster hums out, 

Carver freezing for a moment. Looking down at his marked hand, he flexes it before turning to the three advisors. “The Grey Wardens forced my father to use blood magic to seal him away. He ‘convinced’ the Carta into trying to obtain more of it. Mine, specifically.” He grumbled out, recalling how he was nearly kidnapped years prior.

This news does not settle well with the former bard but it’s easy enough to justify. “Normally I would not condone such actions. Seeing what he is capable of now, however, I can understand why they were willing to do the forbidden.” She frowns as a thought crosses her mind, looking to Carver for answers. “Why did they not have one of their own mages perform the blood ritual?”

“Because Corypheus has some kind of...hold on them. At least any that got too close.” All eyes turn to the storyteller as he enters the room, smiling slightly as he spreads out his arms. “He gets into their heads, makes them hear things, see things. Takes control of them if they linger for too long.”

The advisors grow quiet at this news, Leliana in particular looking displeased. “And now the Wardens are missing.” She curses under her breath before looking over to their new Inquisitor. “We must make finding them our priority!” She urges and Carver couldn’t agree more. There was still the matter of the impending assassination on the Empress though. Not to mention the army of demons they had yet to find.

Varric, as usual, seems to have an answer. “I may be able to help with that.” Carver’s eyes turn to the dwarf and the sheepish look on his face immediately concerns him. It’s a look that says ‘I did something and it’s going to bite me in the ass’. 

“What did you do, Dwarf.”

Varric immediately holds his hands up in defense, chuckling softly as he does. “Nothing that puts anyone in danger I assure you. Except maybe myself.” He mumbles that last bit, turning on his heel. “Meet me on the barracks when you have the time Junior. It’s better you speak to my contact in person.” Oh those words set Carver on edge but what can he do? They need information and if Varric has someone who knows what the Wardens might be up to he needs to speak with them.

Even before he reached the meeting place he could feel his brow twitch. There was a shift in the air, the subtle crackle of magic that came with the presence of an unashamed mage. A proud mage that Varric knew who had information on the Grey Wardens. He could think of only two and one was dead. That only left….

“Carver!” Garrett’s voice rang through the air as the man greeted him with a broad grin, arms stretched out as Varric turned to offer the Inquisitor a sheepish look. The man was just as shabby as Carver remembered him. He was still wearing his spiked armor, with a staff that looked more like a pear than anything a mage would use. He was lacking the signature line of war paint across his face, perhaps the only reason why no one had recognized him coming in. 

What caught Carver’s eye was that he was still wearing the fluffy pauldrons that used to rest on Ander’s shoulders. The memory of Justice possessing the body of Hawke’s former lover, standing beside Corypheus, twisted his stomach, unable to find the strength to stop the elder sibling from bringing him into a bear hug. It wasn’t abnormal but his was normally a polite hug and go. This time the Champion clung to his brother as if he was afraid he’d never see him again.

Recent events accounted for, he couldn’t be blamed.

“Garrett,” Carver grumbled out, patting the man’s shoulder awkwardly as the hug dragged on. He hears the door behind him open and close, the dwarf respectfully giving the siblings some privacy. “Of course Varric wrote to you.” He lets out a breath as Garrett let him go, smiling weakly at Carver.   
Carver can tell the mage is hiding the pain he is feeling. The worry, the stress, the bag under his eyes that betray just how tired he is. Maker, did he sleep on the way here? “He tells me you’ve been flirting with death.” He muses, Carver coming to his side with steady steps, looking out over the courtyard. 

To that the younger sibling could only scoff, shaking his head while crossing his arms. “It’s a one sides courtship, I assure you.” They watch as another wagon makes its way through the gates of Skyhold, Carver digging his nails into his arms as a new weight fell over him. They weren’t here for the Inquisition. They were here because of HIM. What he had done, not the Inquisition as a whole. It was...disconcerting. 

This didn’t escape the elder brother, whose gaze had trailed back to his sibling when Carver grew silent. “Is it everything you ever wanted?” The question came out without much thought but it was out in the air now. All the times Carver had complained about being in his shadow, all the tantrums about being the only ‘normal’ one and now he had it all. He couldn’t help but wonder exactly what the Inquisitor thought of it all.

It was a question Carver was asking himself now as he watched the people poor in. The excitement of the announcement had worn off, allowing the reality of the situation to sink in. Before he could say that every choice he made was only because the council of the Inquisition allowed it. He had someone to blame, someone to fall back on if someone disagreed with his path. Now there was no one to fall back on should he make a mistake. If he stumbled on this path so too would the people who followed him. It was…well.

“No.” He blurted out carelessly, Hawke raising a brow at the warrior as he stuttered out a new reply. “T-that is to say...well…” He trails off, letting out a groan, running a hand through his hair as he walked away from the edge of the battlements. “It is what I wanted.” He corrected, turning to Garrett looking slightly panicked. “It’s just….” He drops his hands, back hitting the stone wall before sinking down to the ground. 

Hawke smiled fondly before moving to join Carver’s side, sitting down next to him. “A lot more than you were expecting.” He helpfully finishes. The Inquisitor doesn’t say anything, just groans while burying his head between his knees. The Carver of the past would be cramming his new title down his throat. This wasn’t the same Carver who left Kirkwall in a huff. This wasn’t even the same Carver who had travelled with Fenris and him briefly. This Carver had been tossed through the Fade and back, literally and figuratively, multiple times, and it showed.

“I could deal with a hole in the sky,” Carver hoped his legs muffled how his voice was wobbling, “I could handle the Mages and Templars tearing at each other's throats.” He lifts his head, looking to his elder brother with a frown. “Corypheus though? He changes everything.” And there it was. The giant ogre in the room. 

Unlike Anders there should be no reason why this monster is walking about Thedas, alive and well. He had been decapitated, the head kicked down a cliff and the body burned to ash. In retrospect maybe they should have ensured the entire thing was burned. 

Just the thought of Carver facing him alone caused Garrett to stiffen. He still has nightmares about Kirkwall burning, both when the Qunari attacked and again when Anders started the mage rebellion. As frightening as it had been though he had never been alone. When he face the Arishok, when Meredith lashed out his companions were at his side. When the time had come to face Corypheus a second time, however, Carver had been alone. Alone when the mountain came down on him, alone when he had to climb up that same mountain. 

For the second time that day he reaches out, wrapping an arm around his sibling’s shoulders and pulling him close. “I wish I had good news for you. Unfortunately I’m sticking around,” he smiles faintly at the harsh laugh that escapes Carver, “and Corypheus may very well be up to his old tricks again.” Any amusement that came with his first announcement vanished with his second, Garrett feeling Carver tense in his hold. 

For a moment they both remain silent, taking in the sound of the builders repairing the stronghold’s walls, the chatter of refugees below and the billowing wind that draped above them. With a deep breath Carver stands, rolling his shoulders as he wills himself to get through this. “Right then.” He turns to his brother as he stands up, eyes narrowed. “What have you got for me?”

“An inside man.” Hawke begins, reaching into the satchel tied to his waist, pulling out a letter and handing it over. “A Warden named Stroud. He’s been following the movements of the Wardens these last few months. The thought that it might be a darkspawn like our favorite Magister popped up but I didn’t think it was possible.” He sighs deeply. “I was wrong.” Rubbing the back of his head the elder brother looks up towards the sky, thinking over his plan. “He’ s hiding up somewhere in old Crestwood. I’ll resupply here then leave in the morning.” Before anyone could recognize him. 

He was already taking a big risk being here, considering how people felt about his relationship with Anders. The rebel mage was the reason why they were all here and no matter how noble the apostate’s cause the damage it had caused was too great. Thinking about his love now reminds him of something else Varric told him of in his letter and the thought made him sick to his stomach. “Carver,” hi voice came out barely above a whisper, “was he there?” He asks, turning to face the younger brother. 

The Herald’s face grows sullen at those words, taking a deep breath and releasing it slowly. “Justice.” He corrects, wanting to ensure that Hawke understood exactly what he saw. “It wasn’t Anders. It was his body yes but it’s clear he’s gone. He must have taken over after you….” He trails off, watching as his brother’s face goes pale. 

Licking his lips Hawke turns away, leaning against the stone railing with his arms. “I see.” A short answer. The Champion usually had so much on most cases but for once the man was stumped for words. 

The silence was unnerving enough that Carver tried to break it by clearing his throat. “It’s not your fault you know.” He tries to comfort his brother, walking over to his side. “Kirkwall was burning, chaos was all around you. You didn’t have time to think about the possibility that Justice would stick around after you killed Anders.” He gently places a hand on Garrett’s shoulder, expecting him to be strong.

When Hawke looks up at him he’s anything but. Tears are running down his face and it takes every ounce of willpower he has not to start shaking. “I can’t.” He chokes out, shaking his head and looking back down. “I don’t think I can do it again, Carver. Even if it’s not him, I can’t.” His fingers dig into the stone, losing the battle against his nerves.

It’s too much for Carver to take. “You won’t have to.” He blurts out, squeezing the man’s shoulder reassuringly. “I’m the Inquisitor aren’t I? That means those connected to Corypheus are my responsibility. Including Justice.” Hawke looks up at him and the tears stains his cheeks are like knives in his heart. “You just tell me where to find him.” He promises, Hawke standing up straight to look the other in the eye.

“I can’t ask you to do this.”

“I’ve already made up my mind.” The smirk returns to the Herald’s face. “You know how it is.” Once he came to a decision he went through with it, no matter what was said or who cried. He couldn’t convince him not to leave Kirkwall and neither could his mother. His first boss could not prevent him from returning to Kirkwall after learning of his mother’s death. No matter who said what no one could convince him that allying the Inquisition with the mages was wrong. So, no matter how his brother felt about this, he would not stray from this bath. 

Hawke stares at the younger sibling for a time before resolving himself to the Inquisitor's decision, smiling gently at him. “Very well. I won’t let you face Corypheus alone, not again.” He grinned, confidence returning. “Next time we face him together.” He promises, Carver, feeling reassured of his choice. It’s a heartwarming moment and for a brief moment, he is content to call him brother.

Then the Champion opens his mouth. “So, does the glowing hand make taking a piss weird?” Just like that, the moment is gone. 

Carver groans in disgust, pulling away from his sibling with a sneer. “Maker’s breath, you sound like Sera!” He groans out, knowing from the look on the mage’s face he isn’t done. 

“What about when you’re alone?” A mischievous eyebrow waggle. “Any lucky ladies get ‘touched by the Maker’?” Hawke expertly dances out of the way when the warrior lunges for him, smile splitting into a grin. “Must be saving a bunch of candles.” 

“I can have you executed, you know! I have the authority!” Carver shouts face flushed red as his sibling cackles, enjoying this far too much. 

“Oh no!” Hawke teases, walking over and catching him in a headlock. “Should I call your Captain to rein you in?” Hawke drives the point in by crowning him with a noogie, Carver scrambling to free himself.

“Cullen is the second to last person to help you here!” Carver growled out, gently clawing at the arm holding him in place, shifting from foot to foot trying to get some ground. 

Hawke pauses briefly as he processes those words, chuckling after a moment. “I meant Bull.” He corrects. “After the letters you wrote me I thought it would have been obvious.” The wandering of his mind was enough for Carver to turn the tide, grasping his brother under the shoulder to heave him into the air, slamming his back into the ground.

“Ass,” Carver growled out and yet he was smiling despite the exertion of it all. It had been a long time since he had a good wrestle. Perhaps those around him were too worried about wounding the chosen of Andraste. Garrett’s words intrigue him however, the younger man worrying his lip before asking, “You wouldn’t happen to have any of those letters, would you?”

Garrett stares up at him with a blank expression before realization dawns on his face. His expression goes from confused, understanding, then sympathetic. “So it’s true then. You don’t remember.” He mumbles out, pulling himself onto his feet before turning to Carver. “You seemed to value this Iron Bull greatly in your letters. Made me jealous really.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m afraid being on the move didn’t afford me much time to preserve your letters. I’ll write to Fenris and see if we might have one though.”

Their conversation is interrupted by an angry shout that’s loud enough to startle the crows resting on the ramparts, Carver wincing as he put a face to the voice. “I think our resident Seeker has found out you’re here.” He turns to face the Champion, smiling meekly. “You should hide. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the dwarf is still in one piece.” He makes his way up the steps, looking over his shoulder for a brief moment. “It’s good to see you, brother.” 

With that he disappears behind this door, rushing to save the writer before Cassandra can get her hands on him. He doesn’t see the calculating look on Hawke’s face or how he looks over the edge of the wall, eyes focused on the mercenary leader. “That’s the one.” He runs a hand through his hair, closing his eyes. 

He knows he still has the letter where Carver explained his personal crisis. How he had caught himself staring at Bull in an entirely inappropriate manner, realizing he was jealous of Bull’s bed partners, not the other way around as he had first thought. He didn’t look forward to having this conversation a second time, let alone in person, but he would be there for his brother. He would not have to face this crisis alone. On the graves of his mother and sister he’d swear this.


End file.
